Tag Archives: phosphorus

Weird Ghost Girls: 1914

Weird Ghost Girls Bathe in Light That They May Be Truly Ghostly.

An Indian maiden has a song to sing. What does she sing of? Men long dead. What does she say of them? She invokes their spirits; she invites them to reappear on earth. A sweet, strange music fills the air—but it does not come from her throat. The light grows dim, and from out the gloom glide forms pale and shadowy, in long robes of light. Noiselessly, swiftly they flit up and down the long aisles. The music but emphasizes the eerie silence. Then, suddenly, it ends in a discordant shriek. Up blaze the lights. The ghosts have faded—vanished into thin air.

Of course it is only a trick, you say to your neighbor. You are not quite sure that you are back on solid earth again, for surely you must have been in Shadowland. Otherwise, how could figures clad in blinding light dart past you, so close that you could almost touch them? You could understand it if they were on the stage, or if huge reflectors were enveloping them in dazzling beams. But they were no on the stage, and no slanting cones of light were breaking the darkness overhead. How is it done? How can human beings—for they must be human beings to move so surely and swiftly—radiate light from their own persons?

Well, it used to be a secret, but it will be no longer. Pale, pretty girls bathed in light—white light, the cold dead gleam of a winter moon, which off times scares the midnight wayfarer by lurking shadows cast in churchyard corners.

You don’t see how a girl could be baked in light? Well, come into the dressing room half an hour before the performance starts. There you will see the chorus girls “make up” for their ghost act. Over their costumes they slip doublets and cloaks of a white leathery substance painted with phosphorus. Cowls of the same material shroud their heads and faces. Then electricians take the soon-to-be-spirits in hand. In a row of giant arc lights, armed with powerful reflectors, stand the girls, and for twenty minutes or more they bathe in the strongest rays that a dynamo can conjure up. There they turn and twist until every portion of their costumes has been exposed to the light over and over again. Big black goggles have to be worn the whole time, for no eye could stand the intense glare, even for a moment. The phosphorescent paint with which they are daubed drinks in the light and stores it up until the time comes for the ghosts to flit up and down the aisles, thrilling the audience by their nightly apparition. But this paint must be renewed regularly or the power of the phosphorus would die out, leaving the ghosts just ordinary mortals.

But how do they pop so suddenly out of the darkness of the auditorium and fade away again? Quite simple! Each ghost has a gown and hood of deepest black and an attendant to handle it. They steal softly to the head of the aisles in parquet and balcony and stand there behind the audience ready for the cue. It comes. Off slip the robes and hoods and down the aisles play the weird forms. So quickly do they dart in and out through the auditorium that the spectators are conscious of nothing but a moving streak of gleaming light. And all the time the orchestra plays strange fairy music and so softly that it seems to come from a great distance. Otherwise, not a sound is heard, and the vast theater is plunged in utter darkness save for the ghostly figures of the light-robed girls. The effect is weird. You sit half terrified, half fascinated, and absolutely silent. The apparitions gradually move toward the head of the aisles. Then the attendant slips on the hood and robe and darkness envelops them once more. Up go the lights, and the thrill is ended.

Plain Dealer [Cleveland, OH] 11 January 1914: p. 37

Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire: The thrill might be ended for the audience, but one wonders how long the horror went on for the “pale, pretty girls,” exposed to the poisonous phosphorus. Possibly the leather gave some protection, but one is not sanguine.

The dangers of phosphorus were well-known; the match-girls of London went on strike in 1888 to protest their exposure to the toxic substance, which caused a horrible disease called “phossy jaw,” (phosphorus necrosis of the jaw). Phosphorus was banned from matches in 1906, but was still available for other applications, including, apparently, theatrical special effects. We have met with an equally dire exposure before, in a novel Parisian “x-ray spook party.”

Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes

You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.

 

How to Make A Real-Life Halloween Witch: 1908

 

Vintage witch postcard courtesy of Missmary.com

Vintage witch postcard courtesy of Missmary.com

HALLOWEEN WITCH MAY ADD MUCH JOY

Must Carry Proverbial Broom and It May Be Covered With Paper

For children nothing adds so much to the thrilling joy of Halloween as to have a “real, live witch” direct the different tests and games

Her costume is so simple to make that even an impromptu sorceress is possible in most families. The high, peaked cap should be cut from stiff cardboard covered with black paper muslin and pasted over with green snakes, little red devils and yellow cats.

The gown can be several rough breadths of black paper muslin, draped on the person who is to wear it, and roughly sewed together so as to have a short-waisted effect and wide, flowing sleeves.

Around the neck should be brought a narrow, pointed kerchief of red muslin. On one sleeve should be sewed a great yellow cat, cut from paper and on the other a curling green snake as big and as curved as the sleeve permits.

The witch must carry the proverbial broom, the handle of which can be covered with orange paper. On her shoulder should be sewed, as if perching there, a stuffed toy cat, such as is to be found in nurseries.

To make the face more gruesome the mouth should be supplied with a set of teeth cut from orange peel. These are simply a strip of the peel about half an inch deep and wide enough to fit around the top jaw. The teeth are cut into regular slits, with enough space left at the top not to have the set break through. When adjusted, the orange teeth not only transform the looks but the voice of the witch. It is well for her, however, to have several sets made for emergencies.

The hair should be allowed to hang and the face have white streaks of paint put on, while phosphorus should be rubbed on forehead, nose and ends of fingers so that it has a gruesome shine in a dark room.

The Washington [DC] Times 29 October 1908: p. 7

Mrs Daffodil’s Aide-memoire:  One imagines the gruesome shine of the phosphorus continued for longer than the duration of the Hallowe’en party.  Phosphorus in cream form was a highly effective rat poison. Persons making phosphorus matches were often killed or mutilated by a bone disease known as “phossy jaw.”  The substance was also used by the military in incendiary bombs. One supposes that this is just another manifestation of Hallowe’en’s  dangerous pranks and poisoned candies, so often reported in the papers of the past as innocent frolics.

 

Mrs Daffodil invites you to join her on the curiously named “Face-book,” where you will find a feast of fashion hints, fads and fancies, and historical anecdotes

You may read about a sentimental succubus, a vengeful seamstress’s ghost, Victorian mourning gone horribly wrong, and, of course, Mrs Daffodil’s efficient tidying up after a distasteful decapitation in A Spot of Bother: Four Macabre Tales.