For truth’s sake!

One of the challenges of our job on the Tower Project is to find the Library of Congress subject heading that best expresses what a particular book is about. On the whole this is enjoyable and instructive. Some books make it easy, others require considerable pondering before that “mot juste” springs to mind. 

When I plucked a pamphlet entitled “An exposition of the polypantoglyphograph” by Thomas Tyldesley from my trolley, I thought “Hmmm, this is obviously about something of which I know nothing, what an opportunity to learn something new” – well, something along those lines, anyway. Now I pride myself on my grasp of the English language, I consider myself moderately well read, and will tackle pieces of literature that require more than a passing moment’s concentration, but after scanning a few pages of Mr. Tyldesley’s publication I began to feel confused. I flicked through looking for fresh paragraphs to attempt, each time failing to grasp the meaning of the text before me:

“M– An eMbleM of coM-Munication by analogy between the OWL(e)’s and Man’s Sense of household habits, and the whole WORLD’S Light by coM-Munion from SOPH-I-VAU with his dog (re dog and GOD, in series 5), and the love of Man through All the dead-men’s skulls to THOX-I-TAU, and the workings of that LeVER  and fulcrum … ”

The Thox-Orient exposition of this polypantoglyphograph, to cognise the language of nature.

 By the time I’d worked my way through that paragraph I had a headache.

I did a quick search on the author’s name and chased up other publications of his in the hope of clarifying my thoughts.  I retrieved a number of pamphlets, all self-published, in a series entitled “For truth’s sake.” After failing to grapple with “Ex-shæphoenominology, or, The science of letters” I started to browse “The ressus(c)itation of the revælation and ‘natural’ meanings of letters, which were sought by Plato and his compeers,” but got a bit bogged down, to be honest.  Determined not to be beaten, I decided to tackle “The original meaning of K” but fell at the first hurdle with:

”All abstracts of thought have tails, and, like comets, the quicker they move the longer their tails become; and I fear that the majority of all classes of our literati, from the lorey occupant of the professor’s chair to the standard-fixed multitudes in our common schools (the latter being battered by strifeful contending Ismst, and fettered by the circumfused fickle curriculum of a co-deified power, emanating from a consanguineous body of clannish richly-paid officials) are more attracted to the tail (tales and stories) than to the body – substance – nucleus – root – ORI, not pri-ORI.”

Now I was beginning to feel decidedly cross. It is hard to explain the sensation of reading something in your own language and not having a clue as to its meaning – vexatious, perhaps? Mr. Tyldesley obviously enjoyed language, and I have managed to glean from his ramblings that he believed the shape of letters to be crucial to their meaning, which explains his predilection for peppering his prose with capital letters and symbols:

And to be fair, I did learn something new. In my ignorance I had never heard of the Sator Square, which is a satisfying palindrome of ancient origin and various interpretations, suitably obscure for Thomas Tyldesley, but a genuine phenomenon in the real world:

His overarching obsession was a mystical interpretation of the alphabet, upon which he built a complex, and frankly baffling, theory of language, which I am sorry to say I have failed to get to grips with. I’m obviously not alone in my bewilderment, as he frequently complains of having his articles and letters rejected by the various papers to which he sent them, and even quotes a baffled individual to whom he had shown his work: “Put your books in our language, and then we can understand you.” Undeterred, Mr. Tyldesley continued his pursuit of the truth with zeal:

“The rejection of newspaper editors to publish my letters on this subject … constrains me to publish this additional paper; although great and severe has been my financial loss up to the present  …”

 He claims to have left school at 6½ “to wind bobbins and learn to weave,” in which case perhaps he belongs to that admirable tradition of the autodidact. It would be interesting to know where he gained access to the information he used in his pamphlets, what, or who, set him on his path of discovery.  I got the feeling, as I struggled to interpret his convoluted prose, that his mind was teeming to bursting point with arcane occult concepts, hieroglyphs, symbols and quasi-religious concepts, but however eccentric or bizarre we may think him, Thomas Tyldesley was evidently happy inhabiting his peculiar world view:

“The unspeakable joy which I possess is begot of my communion with words true to nature, by inception, conception, and comprehension of her mæanderings and the commingling of forces, within the power of order and design, radiating, refracting, and reflecting each clearer ray of light, by which the knowledge of the celestial and the terrestrial becomes fused into matter, mannas for the mind, through a knowledge of visible form, cosmical movement, and invisible but thinkable shape, the steps to higher planes upon which the sublimity of the mind can solve supernal problems. The reality of this rare and lasting pleasure renders me imperious and impervious to all acrimonious attacks of human ignorance and infelicity, and subdues my loss to the value of dross in the smelting furnace of the soul.”

I wish I could say that after grappling with Thomas Tyldesley of Bolton I could agree with Dr. Seuss, who said “I like nonsense; it wakes up the brain cells.” I’m afraid I had to do as the gravedigger in Hamlet advises his baffled companion, who is struggling with a riddle, to do: “Cudgel thy brains no  more about it” and assign the best subject headings I could muster, and move on to more mundane, but blessedly comprehensible, works.

• An exposition of the polypantoglyphograph … / by Thomas Tyldesley. Classmark 1913.8.768
• Ex-shæphœnominology, or, The science of letters … / by Thomas Tyldesley. Classmark 1906.8.920
• The resuss(c)itation of the revælation and “natural” meanings of letters, which were sought by Plato and his compeers. Classmark 1906.9.355
• The original meaning of K  … Classmark 1906.9.352.

For a really good time at a party…

Tags

Autograph books, Fortune telling

Inspired by the pig guest book featured on the blog two weeks ago, I decided to find some of the weird and wonderful ‘party game books’ that I remember cataloguing in the past few months. Four books particularly came to mind; all of them quite bizarre and hilarious, and, possibly, a little worrying… Let no one say that the Victorians and Edwardians didn’t know how to enjoy themselves at a party!

Fortune telling for amateurs

The first is a fortune-telling book that is useful for amusing your friends. You take the first letter of your first and surname, read the table at the beginning of the book (shown below, click on the image for an enlarged version) to see which (completely random) number has been assigned to each letter, subtract the smaller number from the larger and then check the page with the number that results from this sum. Confused? Yes, me too.  The fortunes told range from relatively ordinary pronouncements (“Be prepared for a disappointment”) to the positively riduculous (“A lame person will bring you good news” – really? Um, great…).

 

 

 

Instructions and the mystic alphabet

 

So that you can play along, here’s a list of the possible fortunes with their numerical values:

  1. Good fortune awaits you at the next moon. 2. Let not the dark-haired one gain too much influence. 3. Look toward the sun and health shall be yours. 4. Guard well your treasure, a loss is indicated. 5. Happiness comes in your train. 6. Trust your own judgement and abide by the result. 7. It shall come as you desire. 8. Make the most of the sun, clouds are gathering. 9. A kindred soul is travelling toward you. 10. Wednesdays are unlucky for you. 11. Your outlook grows brighter. 12. Your courage will shortly be tested. 13. The owner of this house has something for you. 14. A fair person will be responsible for your misfortune. 15. Show your affection and you will be surprised at the result. 16. Remember the value of silence. 17. A lame person will bring you good news. 18. Beware of the flesh-pots, therein lies danger. 19. A happy old age awaits you. 20. Be prepared for a disappointment. 21. There is some one who loves you passionately. 22. Be guided by your second thoughts. 23. You have no cause to worry. 24. You must learn economy. 25.Pay attention to detail.

Kelly, from the Isle of Man (apparently)

The other books are, if possible, even more bizarre. The one I liked best has to be My favourite microbe, in which your friends are supposed to draw a humorous rendering of an (entirely made-up) microbe and endow it with a name, an occupation, recreations and its main source of food. The one shown on the cover is also on an example sheet in the book with the following details: “Name: Kelly, from the Isle of Man. Occupation: Reading works by Hall Caine (a Manx author who wrote novels and plays and was well-known among contemporaries). Recreation: Forgetting them (I detect subtle criticism of the author’s works…). Food: Manx cats (or possibly bats, it was quite hard to read).”  See – hilarious! I have the sneaking feeling that you might have to be incredibly bored or quite drunk to enjoy these party books properly.

The last two books both work on a similar principle to autograph books, although the autograph itself is not the main point of either book. The first, worryingly entitled The Ghosts of my friends, has a vertical fold down the centre of each page. The instructions then go as follows: “Sign your name along the fold of the paper with a full pen of ink, and then double the page over without using blotting paper.” This results in a smudged signature which resembles a ghostly figure. Hence the ghosts of your friends; murder, mayhem, ghostly moaning and groaning and the rattling of chains in dark dungeons definitely not involved. Phew, what a relief…

Kiss o graphs

The final book, entitled Kiss o graphs, is the one that I thought was the weirdest of the lot. You might agree when I tell you that instead of (or rather as well as) signing the book, you painted your lips with glicerine and cochineal (red dye)  and then kissed the book, signing your name next to the impression of your lips. My first thought was “How horribly unhygenic.” The microbes (real or imaginary) must have had a field day with this one…

Cambridge, 1912

I was interested to find this slim volume of essays on social conditions in seven “provincial towns”, Portsmouth,  Worcester,  Liverpool,  Edinburgh, Oxford, Leeds and Cambridge.  I’m not sure how Liverpool and Leeds, with populations of over 500,000 can be described as towns, and natives of Edinburgh would hardly describe themselves as provincial – nevertheless it is a fascinating record.

 

Naturally I turned to the chapter on Cambridge. The author, Clara Dorothea Rackham (1875-1966) was quite a character.  Although from a comfortable middle-class background, she was well aware of the problems facing the town.  At the time of the report she was active in left wing politics, a member of executive committee of the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies, and a poor-law guardian for Cambridge. She was married to Cambridge classics don, Harris Rackham, brother of the book illustrator Arthur Rackham, who has already featured in this blog.

 In 1912 the population of Cambridge was around 57,000, roughly half the current population.  According to Social Conditions the main sources of employment were the building trade, railway work, employment in the colleges, printing, and some small scale industry including cement works, brick-making, and brewing.  Surprisingly there is no mention of shop work, domestic service, or the 300 hotels, pubs and restaurants, which must also have employed hundreds.

St. Andrew's Street, 1906

 Wages were low compared with other parts of the country – the wages of an unskilled labourer being about 18s (90p) a week. The report focuses on the seasonal and casual nature of work in Cambridge. According to Rackham, the presence of 4000 students for half the year gave rise to lots of casual work for boys and young men, including running for gentlemen’s cabs at the beginning and end of term, minding bicycles, picking up balls, selling plants and carrying bags. 

Quayside from Magdalene Bridge, 1910

 There was also  a “considerable amount” of work for women, around 500 were employed by the Colleges as bedmakers and helps, and many others were employed in laundry work and in university lodging houses. Again Rackham emphasises the temporary nature of the work, and that many were forced to find other work, such as fruit picking, during the long vacation.

 Other factors contributing to a low standard of life in Cambridge included poor housing and sanitation and the large number of public houses.  The average rent of a three roomed house was 2s 11d (14p) a week, rising to 4s 7d (23p) for six rooms. These figures (at 15-25% of the average labourer’s wage) don’t seem too bad– I’m sure that rents are proportionally much higher today. 

Kettle’s Yard, 1904. At the time of the 1911 Census, 19 families lived here

I seem to remember reading that at one point in the nineteenth century there were 365 pubs in Cambridge – in 1912 there were still well over 200. Most were outside the historic centre, and catered for townies rather than students and visitors.  The report mentions a street with 21 pubs in just over half a mile – this was Newmarket Road, and if you add in the ones in surrounding streets,  drinkers living in the area were truly spoilt for choice, with over 50 pubs within a 10 minute walk.  Only 12 of these survive today and many historic pubs have closed in recent years.

 So much of  the literature on Cambridge focuses on the University, and paints a very rosy picture – so it is really refreshing to find something on the parts of the town that the visitors rarely see.

Don’t look a guest’s pig in the mouth

The Edwardians appear to have had a bit of a penchant for pigs if several of the books in the Tower collection are anything to go by. Amongst the many curiosities we come across in the Tower Project, the most recently observed is  a trend for guest or visitor books  in which instead of writing that you had enjoyed your stay / had a lovely time etc., you were encouraged by your hosts to draw a pig, whilst blindfolded.

Instructions are given in a few neat verses at the beginning of ‘A guest book’…

When visits, dinners, luncheons end, this book is brought to every friend. One is not asked fine prose to write, or yet a poem to indite; one only needs his eyes to close, and draw a pig, from tail to nose. This outline now fill in with ink, leave pig an eye, his tail a kink.

The idea is that the artist must hold a newspaper in front of their face, or be blindfolded, and draw a pig without lifting the pencil from the page (except to add the pig’s eye). The artist then signs and dates their drawing as a record of their visit.

A typical page from 'Pig book'. Each page has decorative borders of anthropomorphic pigs accompanied by a quotation about pigs.

 These books are an entertaining change from the usual guest books I have seen and I imagine they provided plenty of amusement for both host and guest alike, perhaps even more so at dinner-parties if the guests drew a pig when they were a little worse for wear!

The people in this photograph even have pig figurines on the table to inspire their drawing, so this amusement clearly became quite competitive!

In the name of research, and to cheer ourselves up on a rainy afternoon, we decided to have a go at this ourselves. So here is a selection of  Tower Project staff pigs for your amusement. As you can see, it’s not as easy as you’d think! …

Towerpigs

•  Pig book. Classmark 1905.8.483
• A guest book / arranged by Florence L. Sahler. Classmark 1910.8.354 & 1907.8.238
• Essays in Bacon: an autograph book / compiled by G.E. Farrow. Classmark 1907.8.32