Category Archives: Cotsen Curatorial

The History of Child Care: The Anodyne Necklace for Teething

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Frustration is trying to soothe a teething baby.  The signs are easy to spot—a bright red cheek, inflamed gums, lots of drool, a fist stuck in the mouth, fussing and more fussing.  Rubbing the gums with a lightly chilled silver spoon or a clean finger wrapped in gauze may provide some temporary relief.  No one will be in a very good mood until the tooth breaks through.  The good news is that the process will repeat over and over again the next six to twelve months until all twenty deciduous or milk teeth come in.

We have known for some time that teething is a nuisance that can be dealt with at home, except in rare cases.  Today probably every tired parent today goes online questing for a miracle.  Amazon makes it fiendishly easy to obsess over dozens and dozens of teething aides in all sizes and shapes—redesigned pacifers, silicone chew toys, plastic freezer beads, sleek Bauhausian rings that teach how to distinguish shapes and colors, etc. most too cute and reasonably priced to resist the temptation of a little retail therapy.

It was supposed to be simpler once upon a time, but that isn’t really true. In the past, medical professionals believed that teething was an important cause of morbidity because it was supposedly responsible for so many infant ailments.  What remedies were there?  Coral sticks were the rich family’s pacifier.  The more elaborate ones were mounted in silver and  decorated with bells and a whistle, like this splendid one in the Metropolitan Museum of Art to the right.  Surely easy to dent, they look like a gift to be proudly displayed rather than sucked by a drooly baby, similar to  a Tiffany & Co. sterling silver barbell rattle and teether.

Protection from illness or bad luck have been afforded for centuries by amulets of various  materials.  In England, wise women put necklaces of peony roots around the necks of teething children, a practice was well documented in early modern pharmacopias.  White peony roots, necklaces of peony wood beads or seeds are still prescribed for fever, inflammation and pain by practitioners of Chinese traditional medicine.  All these ingredients are available on the web for medicinal purposes, by the way.

In the eighteenth century, the anodyne necklace for babies cutting teeth was one of the most famous (or notorious) of the many branded placebos and quack medicines in a rapidly expanding market.  At 5 shillings, only the well-to-do could afford one. Nevertheless competition was so fierce that consumers were warned away from the counterfeits.  Dr. P. Chamberlen, the supposed inventor without credentials sharing  the same last name a distinguished family of physicians, directed customers to the only authorized retailers, jeweler and goldsmith Basil Burchell and Mrs. Randall.   Do not buy a copy unless it comes with a copy of the 8-page pamphlet, the assurance of authenticity. Pages from Cotsen’s copy are shown at the left.

Children who balked at taking a pill would accept a light-weight, pretty necklace around their neck.  It worked its magic through  “a secret friendly sympathetic quality” similar to amber, jet, glass or agate and cited the eminent natural philosophers Robert Boyle and Dr. Willis as authorities.  A token pierced with a hole could be threaded on the necklace for added efficacy. Queen Caroline and Augusta, Princess of Wales, purchased one necklace per child monthly.   The pamphlet also suggested the time-honored method of rubbing the gums with a finger dusted in pain-easing powder also available where the necklace was sold.

These “toys” sold by the thousands to superstitious mothers, were nothing but frauds, raged the physician-author of The Modern Quacks Detected (1752).  He described the case of a woman who brought her feverish baby to him for an examination.  Two teeth were nearly ready to break through, so his recommendation was to have a surgeon slit the gums to reduce the baby’s suffering.  Instead the fearful mother bought an anodyne necklace a few days later, by which time the teeth had cut.  Her claim that the necklace cured the baby was picked up by one of the agent’s scouts and doctored up as a testimonial to be included in advertisements.  “Hocus pocus,” snarled the author.  She could have hung a stick around his neck instead and claimed it was responsible for the baby’s improvement.

His protest was in vain.  Cotsen recently purchased a bill head dated January 12 1833 for Basil Burchell, son of the original “proprietor & preparer of the ANODYNE NECKLACE” still trading from no. 79 Long-Acre.  And who paid 9 shillings for a necklace?  None other than Her Royal Highness, Duchess of Kent, Victoria Saxe-Coburg-and-Gotha, the mother of the future Queen Victoria.

Before laughing at the Duchess’s credulity, stop for a reality check.  Dentists caution against allowing babies to wear necklaces, bracelets, and anklets without mentioning if they are being worn as amulets against distress during teething.  Amber teething necklaces have their advocates and there must be a fair number of them for a medical blogger address the veracity of  claims made for them.  Plus ca change, plus c’est plus la même chose….

Made by a Child: A Sampler of Siblings’ Names Stitched in 1778.

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An exhibition catalogue of eighteenth-century embroidery would probably pass by this small sampler, which records information about a family in the English Midlands 1767-1787, just purchased for Cotsen. It is simply a list of names enclosed in a narrow, simple border unaccompanied by alphabets, mottoes, architecture, birds, and swirling vines in more bravura examples designed by school mistresses for their pupils.

Joan Oughton, the dexterous young needlewoman, signed at the bottom so posterity would know that she lived in Birmingham and finished the piece in 1788.   She used just three stitches–outline, cross, and tent—and a quiet and harmonious palette of blue-gray, black, gold, and silver silk thread on linen.  The tiny stitches are so regular that the embroidered words and numbers are beautifully legible.  It  lacks the name of a teacher or school, an indication that she worked it as part of lessons to master plain and ornamental needlework, an key component of girls’ education.

Perhaps Joan sewed it as  a  memorial to her sisters and brothers, similar to writing out family members’ names, dates of birth and of passing on a blank leaf in the family Bible. Her mother was almost continually pregnant between 1766 and 1786, bearing eleven children, seven of whom survived infancy.   Joan’s brothers were Thomas Smith, who lived only a week in June 1767, James Harwick born in 1779, Samuel in 1781, and Timothy in 1783.  The oldest girl Elizabeth was born in 1768, Maria, in 1770 and passing away at age eight,  Harriet in 1772, Joan in 1773, Catherine in 1774, Ann who was alive the summer of 1778.  The last girl was a second Maria born in 1786 and living eleven months later. The detail below shows the lines for the first Maria, Harriet, Joan, Catherine, and Ann.

Using Joan’s record of her brothers and sisters, I tracked down very promising candidates for their parents in Ancestry Library (there was no family tree that brought all these Oughtons together as related).  Christopher Oughton was the brood’s father.  Son of Timothy Oughton, he was born April 14th, 1747, and baptized in Lichfield, Staffordshire.  His wife was a Maria, but her maiden name and the date of their union didn’t seem to be documented.

How Christopher support his growing family?  Birmingham directories of tradesmen list a Christopher Oughton at   How did Christopher support his growing family?  Luckily he can be found in Birmingham directories of tradesmen between 1751 and 1775 at fashionable 22 Church Street as a peruke maker–a more elegant term for someone who makes wigs.  Someone in this line of work frequently also cut and dressed hair, sold perfume and pomades, etc.  Christopher added a second, more unusual line of work around 1785—that of pawnbroking.

Joan’s somber tribute to her brothers has proven to be a little piece of family history worked on linen and a very welcome–and unusual–addition to Cotsen’s small group of samplers among the textiles.