Spring-Heeled Jack, Victorian Superhero and the Remake by Philip Pullman and David Mostyn

In 1837,  there were reports in south London of an alarming  figure assailing unsuspecting Londoners walking out late at night. This was the beginning of the urban legend of Spring-Heeled Jack,  the masked boogeyman who made sudden appearances (often by leaping great distances) and fills criminals with terror, often credited by experts in popular fiction like the great collector Joseph Rainone, as a forerunner of Batman. By 1900 Jack was quite the dandy…

Cotsen has just acquired a complete run of 1867 penny-dreadful, Spring-Heeled Jack, The Terror of London by the Author of TURN-PIKE DICK, the Star of the Road.  The first attempt to create a narrative about this cryptid ran to 48 numbers in 576 pages set in two columns on brittle paper.  Each 12-page number was illustrated with a captioned picture 175 x 130 mm.   The covers may have been removed when the set was bound into one volume.  If the printer and publisher left any traces, it would have been on the wrappers, if there were any.   Unless they were too embarrassed by the high consumption of brandy, Sir Roland Ashton, the aristocratic villain’s “hard and cruel heart,” the virtuous young lady with blond tresses and pearly teeth warding off loathsome advances, crime fighters named Catchpole and Grabham, etc. in issue after issue being ground out for the greedy consumption of impressionable young men.

One hundred and twenty-odd years later Philip Pullman wrote a tongue-in-cheek homage illustrated by David Mostyn to high Victorian scary silliness illustrated for the chapter book crowd.  Author and illustrator assume that their readers will be able to follow a penny dreadful spoof, having picked up the conventions which still shape all kinds of popular fiction.

But how does this modern Spring-Heel Jack resemble the 1867 original?

He appears in odd places at odd times.His legs have extraordinary strength.

He is a protector of women, although it’s easy to see why he would frighten them.He always gets his man, some times by unorthodox means like a storytelling contest. The grossest one wins.But they don’t really look the same…. Some contemporary accounts say he wore what sounds like a white body suit, but penny-dreadful Jack appears to be wearing no clothes on most of his escapades.   Occasionally he has a cape with a shaped hem.   He wears a mask with horns, but no hat could contain all those coarse, long locks.  His eyes glow and he breathes fire. The critical difference is the footware.  Mostyn’s masked crusader is shod in knee-high boots à la Superman; penny-dreadful Jack is barefoot throughout.It pays to go back to the source!

It’s in the Box: French Promotional Giveaways for Children about Africa

Once upon a time, cereal shopping was an adventure. While mother made the circuit of the aisles, her child disappeared to the cereal section to decide which one had the best giveaway.  The cereal manufacturers were hoped to make the child pine for all their promised prizes so he or she would ask to buy more boxes of their products, supposedly creating brand loyalty. When mother arrived, negotiations began about what brand her darling wanted versus what she was willing to buy, having given in before and seen boxes of untouched cereal stripped of the prizes going stale on the shelf.  We can give thanks to the Kellogg Company of Battle Creek, Michigan for putting the first promotional giveaway for children, Funny Jungleland Moving Pictures (1909), in boxes of cornflakes.

European corporations also have used this diabolical advertising strategy in the promotion of food products to children.  Several ambitious examples of collectible premiums about Africa were added to Cotsen’s collection of advertising ephemera because they looked like an underused source for studying how corporations doing business in particular countries presented to children those cultures formerly under European control.

Africorama was a promotional giveaway ca. 1967 for Petit-Exquis cookies by the L’Alsacienne brand, which had been baking the buttery treats since the 1920s.  The cookie box contained a color enamel metal flag of an African nation. There were two sets, 20 representing the Muslim countries of Africa, and 28 for the “pays noirs” or Black countries. The set in Cotsen has all of the flags except for the Rhodesian one.  Most of the copies coming on the market are seriously defective, so it is unusual to have one so complete.  On the picture of the cookie box to the left, the metal tabs of the flags can be seen. The metal flags were supposed to be displayed on a  folded, perforated cardboard sheet illustrated by Wilquin.  The flags came with the cookies, but the child-collector had to write away for the sheets if they were to be displayed.  The set for the Muslim countries features a full-length portrait of a Berber Tuareg warrior, a Bantu warrior on the Black one. The back of the cardboard display has a big illustrated advertisement for Petit-Exquis cookies, but no clues why L’Alsacienne was issuing such an elaborate giveaway.

The second example of a French promotional giveaway, La collection La Vache qui Rit, also dates from the 1960s.  The semi-soft cheese had been sold in Africa since the 1930s and the continent remains a big market for the product.  Tucked into the little circular cardboard packages containing the cheese were illustrated cards the same size and shape. The child determined to acquire a complete set had to convince his mother to purchase over 200 boxes of cheese. I suspect many mothers were of two minds about that unless her family consumed a great deal of La Vache qui Rit anyway.  Similar to Africorama, single cards and one or the other of the display sheets are not hard to come by, a set as large as this takes persistence and time to accumulate.

The cards, none of which are signed by the artist, are in French and Dutch.  They illustrate in rather attractive detail African animals, arts and crafts, indigenous costumes, and relations between the European colonizers and native Africans in the Belgian Congo. The cards could be stood up for display if cut along the indicated lines on the front and folded as directed. The pictures are captioned, but there is no explanatory text on the back: they are blank. The subjects are quite intriguing; surely many children would have been curious to learn more about what they saw. To look at these cards, no one would have any idea that the Congo had been roiled by political turmoil since it was granted independence by Belgium in 1960.To understand why these two French corporations produced such attractive, elaborate promotional giveaways, one needs to know something about the history of European corporate investment in Africa during the twentieth century.   Have economists studied this phenomenon to learn more about how corporate strategies for increasing market share at home and possibly abroad devised these sets?  Who came up with the ideas?  Who was responsible for the projects, which could not have executed quickly or cheaply.   Was there a motive other than an economic one for making these giveaways?

How might the presentation of Africa in these promotions might have affected French children and African children living in France or abroad?  When were French children taught about the history of their country’s colonization of Africa?   Would they have been exposed to news about Africa in the press, radio, and television? What attitudes towards non-European people were reflected in the illustrations? How would they have compared with those in school books, leisure reading, or the media?  Would children have heard similar or different views expressed by the adults in their families?   And do reminiscences of collecting promotional giveaways as children survive?  Is collecting this kind of ephemera bound up with nostalgia in the same way as it is in America?