“A Modern Cabinet of Curiosities” contains some favourite things—old or new—along with some curiosities and some just plain oddities.

Tuesday, October 29, 2019

Regular Little Dolly Vardens





“… regular little Dolly Vardens”
“To me, sand grouse occupy the same relative position towards birds that Kate Greenaway’s or Caldecott’s children do to the human family. They are, in very truth, regular little Dolly Vardens in perfection of outline, beauty and variety of plumage, and in grace and energy of movement, while their little feather-trowsered legs impart an air of modesty that is most piquante. Those folks that have crossed the Atlantic have doubtlessly heard ‘bees’ spoken of by our cousins. Now there are several kinds of ‘bees’ in America, such as quilting ‘bees,’ logging ‘bees’, and husking ‘bees.’ The double-banded sand grouse has a ‘bee’ of its own, which I will designate a courting ‘bee.’ About midday, in spring, these little pets will assemble, possibly to the number of a dozen, and dance the most extraordinary and intricate figures, in which all take a part. From the back of an ant-hill I have often watched them at this amusement. In it there is none of the poetry of the gliding waltz, but all the energy and go of the Scotch reel…”
(Parker Gillmore. The Hunter’s Arcadia. London, Chapman and Hall, 1886)
(For more on Gillmore, see my blog post (wearing a different hat) on the book collection of the Royal Geographical Society of South Australia: Xmas Treats 2014, “Xmas Treats: Mr Silver’s Little Book, & A Helping of Grouse”.)

    Yes, it’s charming, isn’t it? But the book’s about game hunting in Africa! Why on earth was a great white hunter tossing off a reference to “Dolly Varden” in the midst of descriptions of his forays through Africa, gun in hand?

Who Was Dolly Varden?
If you’ve read Charles Dickens’s early historical novel, Barnaby Rudge, you’ll know this. Dolly Varden was a character in the book, which centres on the Gordon Riots of 1780 in England. She struck the fancy of the reading public and became immensely popular over the decades that followed the book’s first publication, which was in Dickens’s serial, Master Humphrey’s Clock; With Illustrations by George Cattermole and Hablot Browne (London, Chapman and Hall, 1840-1841).

“…a pretty, laughing, girl; dimpled and fresh, and healthful—the very impersonation of good-humour and blooming beauty”

Dolly was a working-class girl, the daughter of a locksmith. She was pretty, merry, and extremely attractive to the opposite sex. Dickens introduced her as: “a pretty, laughing girl; dimpled and fresh, and healthful—the very impersonation of good-humour and blooming beauty.” Whether it was his descriptions or the illustrations that struck a chord with his readers, it’s impossible to say—both, probably! Here’s the original illustration of the scene where Dolly delivers a letter to Emma Haredale, the proper young lady who is the conventional heroine, from her suitor:


(Charles Dickens. Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of ’Eighty.
Project Gutenberg.)

    The picture includes the details that were to characterise the subsequent fashion fad for Dolly Varden outfits, worn even as normal wear in the 1870s, but more often over several decades as fancy dress: the tilted flat straw hat, the draped pannier-style overdress, and the muff.
    You can read all about this 19th-century fashion fad in “A Brief History of the Dolly Varden Dress Craze”, by Natalie Ferguson, on the web site A Frolic Through Time.

Dolly Varden in Art
The Dolly Varden fad started early; quite possibly it was this 1842 painting by Dickens’s friend, William Powell Frith, which helped spark it.



A Household Word
The fact that Parker Gillmore throws in the casual reference to “regular little Dolly Vardens” in his 1886 book about game hunting in Africa is an indicator of how Dolly Varden had become a household word during the 19th century. There was no need for him to explain: his readers would immediately have grasped the reference.

“Short quilted skirt; bodice and bunched-up tunic of flowered chintz … Straw hat with cherry-colored ribbons, or muslin cap …”

At around the same time, Dolly Varden dresses having become the rage for the popular fancy-dress dances, Ardern Holt tells us ladies how to get ourselves up as Dolly:

    DOLLY VARDEN (Barnaby Rudge). Short quilted skirt; bodice and bunched-up tunic of flowered chintz, the former low and laced across; a muslin kerchief inside; sleeves to elbow with frill; correctly speaking the hair should not be powdered, as she did not belong to the upper classes. Straw hat with cherry-colored ribbons, or muslin cap and apron; high-heeled shoes and bows; colored stockings; mittens.
(Ardern Holt. Fancy Dresses Described, or, What to Wear at Fancy Balls. 6th ed., London, Debenham & Freebody, 1896)

    One of the attractions of the style would undoubtedly have been that it allowed the ladies of the time a daring show of dainty ankles—much appreciated by the gentlemen of the time!
    Contemporary illustrations abounded; and there were Dolly Varden songs and dances as well as dresses and hats. Below we see just two examples of how Dolly was depicted on sheet music. Note the dainty ankles!


The fervour for the fancy dress gradually died out, but aspects of the Dolly Varden craze persisted well into the 20th century. The article in Wikipedia on “Dolly Varden (costume)”, largely sourced from Natalie Ferguson’s “A Brief History of the Dolly Varden Dress Craze”, notes: “Even in the late 1930s, chintz patterned fashions might still have the name ‘Dolly Varden’ attached to them.” The “Dolly Varden hat”, likewise, was still around: a flat hat, worn tilted, as in the earliest illustrations.

Having Your Dolly Varden And Eating It, Too?
In the first half of the 20th century the “Dolly Varden Cake” was an established favourite. Don’t rush off and do an Internet search: the references will lead you to the modern Australian version of the cake—nothing like it. The recipe subsisted well into the 1950s. It was characterised by at least two different-coloured layers—presumably inspired by the double layers of Dolly’s skirt as depicted in the earliest illustrations. One was typically plain and lemon-flavoured, the other typically flavoured with spices and dotted with currants or sultanas, sometimes also containing cocoa. Variants could have three layers: two light, sandwiching the darker one.
    By the time these three versions were published the cake had already been popular for many years:

** Version (1): Dolly Varden Cake, by Miss Rehn, W.C.T.U., Adelaide.
(Green and Gold Cookery Book. 15th ed. (rev.), Adelaide, R.M. Osborne, circa 1949)
3 layers: 2 plain, 1 “brown by adding spice, peel and currants”; sandwiched with pink cream; pink-tinted coconut added to icing.
** Version (2): Dolly Varden Cake, by E. Norman, Kadina.
(Green and Gold Cookery Book. 15th ed. (rev.), circa 1949)
2 layers: 1 plain, flavoured with lemon essence, 1 “dark” with spice, lemon peel, sultanas; sandwiched with butter icing.
** Version (3): Dolly Vardon [sic] Cake, by Mrs. F. Densley (Bordertown), variant by Mrs. R.P. Wood (Owen).
(Calendar of Cakes. [4th ed.], Adelaide, South Australian Country Women's Association, [1951?])
2 layers: 1 plain, flavoured with lemon essence, 1 with cocoa, cinnamon, currants; sandwiched with jam; icing.

Curiouser and Curiouser…
By the end of the 20th century the traditional Dolly Varden cake had disappeared. In Australia it’s been replaced by an extraordinary revival of the name—why, I can’t discover: possibly someone’s brilliant perversion of a recipe name she got off her granny, possibly merely a commercial venture in order to sell fancy cake tins. This new “Dolly Varden” cake consists of a wide skirt shape as the base, topped with a doll. No kidding. I’d take a bet most of the lady bakers who make this very fancy cake for special birthdays don’t have a clue where the name originated!
    You can find a typical example, “Australian Women's Weekly Dolly Varden Cake”, at the Australian Women’s Weekly website. It uses a packet cake mix.
    I love the idiocy of the description:
“This iconic children’s birthday cake was inspired by the character, Dolly, in one of Charles Dickens’ novels. A special baking pan, in the shape of her dress has been created just for this cake and you’ll need one of them for this recipe.”
    Do they even know what the word “iconic” means? They certainly don’t know what the possessive of “Dickens” is. And note the looseness of the derivation!
    To finish (finish you off?), here is the cake, in all its terrifying glory:


Monday, September 16, 2019

The Noble Lambs of Roquefort


Curious…


“The noble lambs of Roquefort”? Reading about Roquefort cheese on the GourmetSleuth’s website, I was abruptly whisked back over 40 years, remembering vividly that it’s the cheese produced by “the noble lambs of Roquefort.” Mum discovered that deliriously silly phrase in Réalités, a fancy colour magazine of the late 1960s or early 1970s which was the English-language edition of a French magazine. I think the year’s sub was a present from a well-off friend living in Switzerland. The articles and the wonderful photos accompanying them gave us a lot of pleasure, but the noble lambs gave us the only laugh.


    Once seen, never forgotten? Well, yes. Added to which, it comes over like a very bad translation into English of some flowery French phrase, and the GourmetSleuth’s definition of Roquefort’s not much better—translated by a computer?

Roquefort is considered as the “King of cheeses”. It has a tingly pungent taste and ranks among blue cheeses. Only the milk of specially bred sheep is used and is ripened in limestone caverns. It has the cylinder-shape with sticky, pale ivory, natural rind. Ripe Roquefort is creamy, thick and white on the inside and have a thin, burnt-orange skin. The ripening of the cheeses is in the natural, damp aired caves found under the village of Roquefort-sur-Soulzon.
(GourmetSleuth.com)



Noble Lambs?
Have another look at Alfred Morris’s sheep. Noble? Tom Sutcliffe claims in “When sheep are just— sheep” (ArtUK, 12 Oct 2018) that “…Alfred Morris’s sheep are crowd-scene sheep. … And they have a job, which is to monetise otherwise unfarmable land by turning it into meat and wool. But if they are representative of anything it is of their own local, familiar sheepiness. Which is, I think, the most winning thing about this particular genre of paintings. They exist for viewers who just can’t get enough of sheep, viewers who can probably see sheep at any time they want just by looking out of a window, but hanker after a practical way of getting sheep indoors so they don’t have to. This kind of viewer doesn’t want to think about Virgilian eclogues, or reflect on human waywardness, or brag about their prize-winning New Leicester. And these pictures are here for them. What are these sheep doing? They’re being sheep and that’s it.”

    I disagree entirely. Had the man ever left London? These are NOBLE sheep—yes, like the noble lambs of Roquefort! Painted for a Victorian audience, they are typical of the way their contemporaries, not rural with views of sheep from their windows, but increasingly urbanised, liked to view their domestic animals: they had to be charming (dogs, puppies, cats, kittens, chicks, ducklings), or quaint (ducks, hens, piglets) or noble (more dogs, horses, sheep, Highland cattle, prize beasts, deer) or romantic (Highland cattle and deer again). Look at the way they're holding their heads: they're not all head-down eating grass, which is what sheep do most of the time. They're holding their heads up; some are giving you a profile worthy of a Roman emperor; some are staring you down, chin well up. I grew up in a sheep-producing country and I’ve spent a holiday on a hill sheep farm, and I can tell you that off the canvas sheep don’t do that except on the rare occasions when something has caught their attention.

More Noble Lambs? Silly, But Just Sheep?
The photos below are from: Richard Lydekker (1849-1915). The Sheep and Its Cousins; With 61 Illustrations. London, G. Allen & Company Ltd, 1912.
    Lydekker was an eminent English 19th-century naturalist who wrote many works on aspects of natural history, including some substantial volumes which became standard reference items in their time. Many of his works were on the birds and animals of the modern world, but he was also a palaeontologist, cataloguing the fossil mammals, reptiles and birds of the Natural History Museum in a massive 10-volume work (1891). He was also an important figure in early biogeography, the study of the geographical distribution of plants and animals. In 1895 he delineated the biogeographical boundary through Indonesia, known as Lydekker's Line, that separates the two biogeographical areas of Wallacea on the west and Australia-New Guinea on the east. His works are often profusely illustrated, some by himself, some by eminent zoological and ornithological artists of the time. These photos of some very odd sheep do not represent the best of his work!


The photographer has managed to attract their attention (except for the posed stuffed head, natch.)
    I wouldn’t say they look noble, though. Silly, possibly, especially those poor four-horned ones on the lower right. They’re probably Jacob sheep, which are piebald and usually multi-horned. They’re an old traditional English breed. (“Jacob sheep”, Wikipedia.)

    Well, the cheese-producing ewes may be noble or silly, but I’d agree that Roquefort is the king of cheeses. I had it in France and it wasn’t “tingly” and it was only “pungent” if you automatically assume all blue cheese is pungent. It was meltingly creamy and slightly sweet, a dream of a cheese. On the other side of the world it’s horrendously expensive and comes in horrible little sealed plastic packets which make it weep. Not worth the money, alas.