There are those who insist that Dick
Whittington’s “cat” was in fact a small boat, and that he made his fortune with
a fleet of such boats. No bells pealing “turn again Whittington, thrice Lord
Mayor of London”, no Sultan’s palace, no rats for Dick’s splendid cat to
catch... just an ordinary merchant with a few small boats and the statue of a
cat halfway up Highgate Hill a commemoration of a mere myth.
There are also those who say that Dick
Turpin was no Highwayman, that he never waited at the Spaniard’s Inn for the
Barnet coach to leave so that he could follow it, race through a secret tunnel
on to the Heath, vault onto Black Bess and be waiting for them, pistols cocked,
at the crossroads before they even lurched into view. Many now say that in
fact, he was nothing but a common horse thief. It is now commonly held that he
never rode to York with or without Black Bess, indeed, that the Highwayman who
did was actually one Richard Neilson, and that the double grave at York said to
contain the mortal remains of Turpin and Bess is nothing but a fraud – a
tourist trap.
Well, as Diana Vreeland said: “a
little exaggeration never hurt anyone; if the facts are not fancy enough – fake
it!”
- and I choose to
believe that James Atkinson walked 400 miles from Cumberland to London with his
pet bear...
The Perfumes
Californian Poppy – 1908
Floral
Californian
Poppy was created by
Atkinson in 1908 and achieved astronomical worldwide sales. In the years
leading up to WW2, no other perfume, not even Bourjois’ Soir de Paris (Evening in Paris), could match its success.
In the words of one perfume expert, it
was “a masterpiece painted with cheap paints.”
In an act of gross betrayal, Atkinson
were so ashamed of the saviour of their fortunes that they took the extraordinary
step of marketing the perfume without revealing the maker’s name. When it first
appeared it was presented in very average, functional perfume bottles, redeemed
only by glorious Art Nouveau designs on both its box and its label. Like Soir de Paris, it arrived on the
counters of Woolworth’s presented in bakerlite containers of every shape and
form, including a grand piano.
These were God-given gifts for
children to buy long-suffering mothers for birthdays and Christmas, in sure and
certain hope that once the perfume was finished, the magnificent piano would
find its way into their doll’s houses.
Californian
Poppy was classed as
a “shop girl’s scent”, the lowest of the low. To admit to wearing it was to
admit to being working class in the days where very few wished to make such an
admission.
In fact, nobody would want to admit to
wearing Californian Poppy, which is
why Atkinson removed their name from it, and why it went down in history as a
house-maid’s perfume.
What a tragedy. For with a cynicism
beyond the dreams of avarice, it became somehow poetic justice that Atkinson,
confronted by the success of Revlon’s Charlie,
should give up all hope, up sticks to Milan, leaving their precious history of
flaconage designs and labels to a more astute and intuitive firm, Crabtree and
Evelyn, to take up and market with astounding success.
Californian
Poppy was available
once more, for one brief summer, in department stores, presented by Mary Chess,
only to disappear permanently shortly afterwards.
Such a shame. It may have been a
“masterpiece painted with cheap paints”, but it still kicks the current
chemical offensives presented as perfumes into a bucket.
White Rose – 1910
Floral
Two years following the creation of Californian Poppy, Atkinson’s White Rose became their most popular
fragrance, or “odour” as it was called in those days – when odour meant
something other than an unpleasant emanation from a drain or the latest scandal
from Whitehall.
White
Rose did not just
appear as an essence, an odour and a toilet water; you could put it on your
hair as an oil, a pomade, or a brilliantine.
You could wash your hair with the
shampoo, your face with the soap, and shave with the shaving soap. Not only
that, you could even clean your teeth with White
Rose toothpaste, rinse your mouth with toilet vinegar scented with it,
moisturise your face with White Rose
scented milk, sprinkle White Rose salts
in the bath, soften your hands with White
Rose glycerine, and finally talc yourself with it.
If that were not enough, you could
sweeten your breath by sucking White Rose
cachous, stroke your moustache with a stick of it, and if all that made you
feel faint, there were even White Rose
smelling salts available to bring you around again. In the home, you could
scatter sachets of it in your smalls drawers, whilst pastilles were available
to sit on your lamps and waft the smell through your salon.
Surely, this was the “all-over”
experience to end all “all-over” experiences.
Stern warnings were issued to beware
of counterfeiters: “None genuine without this signature!” the labels yelled,
and not all of them pertaining to the pavement vendors outside Selfridges, but
to other companies keen to copy Atkinson’s winning formulae.
[the following paragraph was written
in red pen]
Eonia (1902),
Insouciance (1919), Columbine (1920), Carillon (1936)
Company
recently revived under the ownership of Brand Managers of Richmond after being
absent from the UK market for 20 (trading overseas), 1996 brought back English
Lavender (created 1910) under the label “I Coloniali”
Constance Spry did the first window display for Atkinson’s Bond
Street Shop.
Sally Blake
Date
Unknown
Further
notes found in the Atkinson file:
April 1937
“The expenditure of 3/- (15p) on a
perfume that is not known is too much to expect, but at 7 ½ (1/6) in a very
nicely presented pack, there should be no difficulty.”
(Blue box – label “gothic” with silver
bells sounding through a casement window. The cap carries on the blue of the
box”)
Test sampling in Vogue – previous
autumn – by over 2000 readers in a test distribution – favourably received:
“the perfume that remains freshest”
Already part of Lever in 1937
Photostat of Bear-Pot picture
(expensive, 2/6 and 5/-)
Poinsettia or Fleur de Pacques! (Flor de
Pasque?) 1911
4 leading actresses said 4/6 too cheap
– make it more. But it didn’t catch on.
Approx. 1908
Californian Poppy’s appeal so wide –
it was sent out under its own name only, as Atkinson were afraid it would
diminish their reputation. Munition workers loved it – unadvertised, unheralded
and cheap.
Tax on alcohol. Prohibitive colognes.
Others used synthetics. But Atkinson never.
Perfumes for the Handkerchief
Afolia
Bouquet
Pandora
Bouquet
du Grand Prix (Paris
Exhibition – 1900)
Lily
of the Nile
(dedicated to Lord Kitchener of Khartoum – not Gordon?)
Bottles were not cheap.
One cost £384 (19-4-0!) Granted, you
got 36oz!!
They all varied. But an ounce was
approximately 22/- to 42/- and always seemed to be 1½oz.
Myretta Specialities:
Myretta Rose
Myretta
Violet
Myretta
Jasmin
Myretta
Bouquet
Lavender
Water
Double distilled
The
Queens and Lavender Water perfumed with musk.
Esprit
de Lavande au Bouquet
Esprit
de Lavande aux Millefleurs
Esprit
de Lavande Ambré
Ethereal Essence of Lavender and the
Myretta Lavender Water.
Afterword...
The film “Out of Africa” was
completely ruined for my mother. Wife to a television director, sister to a Film
Producer, mother of a child actress, and, as a former actress herself, nothing
bothered her more than sloppy dressing on screen or on stage. The first irritation
with the film was actually Robert Redford’s refusal even to contemplate
attempting to subvert his American drawl when playing the role of the
quintessential Englishman, Denys Finch-Hatton (something all the more incomprehensibly
arrogant when stood next to the Danish accent mastered by his lesser paid co-star,
Meryl Streep). However, even that paled into insignificance when the camera
came to rest on the dressing table of Miss Streep’s character, the Baroness
Blixen.
“There is no way on this earth a Danish
Baroness would have worn Californian
Poppy!” Sally shrieked.
 |
| "If you're going to make scenes at garden parties, honey, for God's sake, at least wear Caron..." Meryl Streep and Robert Redford in Out of Africa |
Much as my mother eulogised about
Atkinson, Californian Poppy was
possibly the Charlie of its day. The
most successful and most embarrassing of their creations. Ever put your nose in
a poppy and smelled its scent? No, neither have I. They don’t smell. James
Atkinson, I guess, felt they should.
Emma Blake
May
2014
