“Podgy Pig?” Guy was intrigued. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Whoops, I forgot I was talking to an American. English children are raised on the adventures of Rupert Bear and his friends, one of whom is a pig named Podgy. He wears a brown checked suit and a black bow tie,” she added, as if that somehow made things clearer.
“Oh, that Podgy Pig.” Guy nodded sagely. “The one with the suit and tie! I was thinking of someone completely different.” (Not2Nite)
The cover of the 1942 Rupert Annual shows him off adventuring with his chums Bill Badger and Podgy Pig as if there were no such thing as a war on.
Rupert Bear first appeared on November 8, 1920 in the Daily Express, a London newspaper founded in 1900 and which was also the first paper in Britain to feature a crossword puzzle. That makes Rupert six years older than Winnie-the-Pooh and 38 years older than Paddington Bear. Rupert used to be a brown bear, but to save on printing costs he was turned into a white bear which uses much less ink. He always wears a yellow check scarf and trousers and a red jumper. Rupert lives with his parents in Nutwood, a fictional English village where all sorts of adventures are to be had for an intrepid young bear and his similarly anthropomorphic friends, including his best friend, Bill Badger.
Every year since 1936 a Rupert Bear Annual has been released featuring the storylines that have run in the newspaper over the course of the past year and new adventures, puzzles and games. Even though Rupert became a white bear almost immediately, the annuals continued to feature a cover illustration of him as a brown bear. Despite critical paper shortages during World War II and an almost complete stoppage of non-essential printing the Rupert annual carried on uninterrupted. Its continuation was considered of crucial importance to keeping up morale.
Eventually he found the monogrammed Zippo lighter his father had given him in the front pocket of his trousers—how did it get there? It was usually in his breast coat pocket— and pulled it out. (Not2Nite)
Zippo lighters are often seen as a hallmark of US commercial culture, standing alongside other iconic American brands like Harley-Davidson, Coca-Cola or even Disney. It’s ironic, therefore, that the inventor and founder of the Zippo Manufacturing Company, George G. Blaisdell, based the design on an earlier Austrian lighter, although he improved upon considerable.
Frank Sinatra, seen here with his classic Zippo resting atop his package of cigarettes on the table, became a teen idol during the second world war. Sinatra went from strength to strength and has been called the greatest singer of the twentieth century. (Perhaps there’s hope for Justin Bieber.)
The lighter itself sits in a coated brass case with a flip top. To light the flame the user flips the top of the case open and spins a small wheel that sparks against a flint and ignites the naphtha-soaked wick. One of the things that initially made Zippos so popular and practical (and continues to do so) is that the wick sits inside a protective chimney, so that the flame is very difficult to blow out, even under very adverse conditions and won’t even go out in the rain. Though the lighter contains 22 parts and goes through 108 manufacturing processes it is extremely easy to use.
Guy got his Zippo just in time. When the Americans entered the war in 1942 Zippo immediately stopped commercial manufacturing. For the duration of World War II all their lighters were reserved for the American military. By the end of the war their popularity was assured. Since then Zippos have ‘starred’ in more than 1500 movies, plays and television shows and most people are familiar with their tell-tale click as they are opened and closed.
Zippo is famous for its “It works or we fix it free” slogan. If Guy were around today and dropped his lighter again all he would need to do is send it back to the company to have it repaired or replaced despite it being 75 years since he first dropped it on a street in London during the Blitz.
“Chickenheart,” Jason scoffed. “If you mean to abandon your sister to her fate I can escort her. Lancings is only a few miles outside my way, and I can very easily detour round to take her with me if she doesn’t mind driving in a curricle.” (Recompromising Amanda)
Curricles were a kind of two-wheeled, light, open carriage that were generally pulled by two horses. They were meant to carry two people at most unless no one minded being badly squeezed together. They came into existence in the mid eighteenth century and the name comes from the Latin curriculum, which means course or racing chariot. They were extremely fashionable, extremely expensive (some were more than £100, much more than the wages of female domestic servant, for example, which could be as low as £2 a year) and not particularly comfortable.
In other words, they were the Regency equivalent of a modern convertible sports car – great for roaring around in and impressing everyone with how dashing you are (they even had a special place to store your sword). No wonder every wealthy London male worthy of his salt wanted one. Naturally Jason, Lord Greyshott, would have one and being the perfect gentleman he would automatically enquire whether a young lady of quality is up for travelling in one through the countryside for several hours. She would normally travel in a closed or better sprung carriage, which would be better for both her complexion and her comfort.
Alas for the curricle, a few years after Jason took Amanda for a ride cabriolets were introduced to society and immediately became the most elegant, most fashionable, most must-have carriage. I’m sure Jason was one of the first purchasers.
“I expect if the sirens go her mum will get her into a shelter quick enough. And if she elects to stay home, I’m betting they have a pretty sturdy Morrison shelter in the kitchen they can huddle under.” (Not2Nite)
Morrison shelters certainly saved many, many lives but they must have been fiendishly uncomfortable.
During the blitz 1000s and 1000s of bombs rained down on London and most people didn’t even have a basement to huddle in. Partially to discourage people from taking shelter in Underground stations the Home Office developed small air raid shelter kits for personal use that people put together themselves (kind of like Ikea products and probably just as frustrating). One of these shelters was the Table (Morrison) Indoor Shelter or Morrison shelter as it was commonly known, which low income families were provided with for free. The tables were just over six feet (2 metres) long and four feet (1.2 metres) wide. They were two and a half feet (.75 metres) high with a thick steel plate for the top, wire all around and a steel mesh mattress on the bottom. Families were expected to use the top as a dining table and sleep underneath during a bombing raid. By the end of 1941 half a million Morrison shelters had been distributed.
These shelters weren’t expected to protect people against a direct hit. No one expected to be able to survive one of those; even underground stations, which were rightly considered amongst the safest places to ride out an air raid, weren’t immune – a direct hit at Bank Station killed 56 people and there were other casualties at other stations as well that resulted in many, many deaths. However, a lot of people died as a result of their home collapsing around them when a bomb exploded near by. Morrison shelters were therefore designed to protect people from walls falling and roofs and floors caving in and it seems they did quite a good job of it. In one study of 44 badly damaged homes containing Morrison shelters it was determined that out of 136 people 120 escaped serious injury and those that died or were seriously injured had either been hit directly or hadn’t constructed their shelter properly (Morrison shelters had 359 parts!). In 1950 the designer, Sir John Baker, was awarded £3,000 by the Royal Commission on Awards to Inventors for his design of the Morrison shelter in recognition of how many lives his design undoubtedly saved.
“I haven’t tasted candy in over a year,” Molly admitted. “Sweets were one of the first things to disappear off the shelves when rationing was instituted. I don’t think I can resist.” (Not2Nite)
Never forget that Great Britain is an island with all that entails. Not just an island, but a northern island that isn’t very large and was home to around 50,000,000 people in the 1940s. Not surprisingly at the beginning of World War II they were importing up to 70 percent of their food. Of course, the Germans were well aware of this and concentrated a lot of their effort on trying to make sure that necessary supplies didn’t reach Britain’s shores. In order to ensure everyone got their fair share of what food there was the British government instituted rationing. Every man, woman and child, including all the members of the royal family, was issued a ration book and could only purchase a set amount per week of whatever was rationed, with their purchase carefully marked down in the book. No ration book, no food. Sugar, which was mostly imported, was one of the first things to be rationed and candy stores pretty much became a thing of the past. So Molly isn’t kidding when she says she hasn’t tasted candy in over a year.
photo credit: ‘WW2 People’s War is an online archive of wartime memories contributed by members of the public and gathered by the BBC. The archive can be found here.
Barbara Burke is not my real name…sort of. The name I go by – my ‘real’ name – belongs to someone who writes serious articles for serious magazines and newspapers. It belongs to a woman who wins awards for her works as a journalist and editor. It belongs to a woman who sometimes finds herself hanging out with academics and ‘serious writers’ who wouldn’t dream of stooping to admit they might harbour even a modicum of respect for romance writers (yes, they’re probably real wankers).
So when I started writing romance I decided I needed to do it under another name. I didn’t want to confuse people, was what I told myself.
And thus Barbara Burke was born. However, even though it’s a pseudonym, a nom-de-plume, even a nom-de-guerre if one’s feeling particularly jaundiced about this whole writing business, I actually have every right to the name.
Before she married, my mother’s last name was Burke. So I’m as much a Burke as I am a…the other side of the family. If we lived in a matriarchy rather than a patriarchy my last name would be Burke without question. That’s good enough for me. I claim Burke as my birthright.
Barbara takes a little more explaining. My brother was 13 when I was born and, family lore has it, fell in love the first time he saw me. When my father went to register my birth he took my brother with me. The clerk was duly filling in the form and asked for my second name. Uh oh. Though my first name had been set in stone for months – John, if I was a boy and…never mind, if I was a girl – my parents had somehow neglected to come up with a suitable middle name. At that point my brother stepped in. In the throes of puppy love for some dream girl in his grade eight class he blurted out her name – Barbara – and the clerk had it filled out on the official form before my father could speak. My mother discovered my newfound moniker when reading the evening paper in hospital that night.
So even though Barbara Burke is not my ‘real’ name, I think it’s as much a part of me as that other one and I claim it proudly in my second life as a romance writer.