Social-Distancing Laws (1970)

"Diseases are cool!"

In the 1970s, the Notional Health Service envied those public sectors that received more funding from the government. The NHS was particularly resentful of the Department of Education & Indoctrination and in 1977 it set out to entice children away from schools and state-run brainwashing covens into hospitals so that it could justify larger budget requests.

The NHS initially launched a major campaign aimed at children and teens, which promoted the health benefits of serious medical diseases and conditions, especially those which required substantial financial resources. In addition to adverts in magazines such as Look-In (see above), it also produced collectable bubble-gum cards (see below), badges, T-shirts and cuddly toys that resembled bacterial cells and viruses.

While the idea of being dangerously sick did become very popular among the nation's school children (indeed, the Staphylococcus aureus flesh-eating disease playset was the biggest seller of Christmas 1978), it still wasn't enough to attract the desired funding to the health sector and in 1978 the NHS took the inevitable step of directly infecting its merchandise with actual diseases to ensure success.

NHS Health Warning Poster (1978)

In 1978 the Notional Health Service was struggling to cope with its lack of funds. Overspending was unavoidable and the threat of closure was ever present. However, Scarfolk Council's department for health and knitting hit upon a simple method to radically reduce spending.

Firstly, taking its lead from a household insurance policy, the council recategorised many serious (thus expensive) illnesses as ineligible for treatment. Cases were dismissed due to "general wear and tear" or "acts of god", and the council even went as far as to recommend that patients with serious physical ailments "contact the manufacturer for further assistance". Secondly, the spread of disease in hospitals was cut by 90% by removing and prohibiting sick patients.

Patients with cheaper, non-threatening conditions were admitted to NHS hospitals, but only if they understood that they might share a bed with up to 9 other patients and/or a startup business that had rented the bed as office space. Patients were also subjected to virtually costless placebo trials. In fact, all treatments in 1979 were placebos consisting of either sherbert infusions (the town mayor was a major stakeholder in a Scarfolk confectionery factory) or daily rituals conducted by a coven of witches, who chanted in hospital car parks around an effigy of a nature deity made from balloons.

The cost-cutting scheme was successful and other regions adopted the same model. Not treating people was the only way to keep the NHS a viable, going concern, permitting it to continue what it has always done best: treat people.

Cub Scout "Bob-a-Body" Week (1977)

The annual boy scout Bob-a-Job week was an institution. However, from 1975 the jobs that scouts were expected to undertake moved away from the mundane - the washing of cars, sweeping of leaves and mowing of lawns - and became much more demanding.

Below is a scout leaflet from 1977 which was the first year that Bob-a-Job week officially changed its name.

During Bob-a-Body week, hundreds of cub scouts roamed Scarfolk helping members of the community with their assisted suicide needs. The old, sick and formally shunned most frequently employed the services of the scouts, though the council's Oxygen Resource Board allegedly sent lists of reluctant residents to scout groups in advance, along with illicitly duplicated front door keys and gallon jars of a toxic nerve agent.

NHS organ returns (1974)

There have been recent reports about National Health Service plans to sell off patient data (i.e. your personal medical records) to the highest bidding drug and pharmaceutical companies. It's worth remembering that something similar happened when the NHS almost closed down in 1974.

This leaflet was distributed at the time:

Click to enlarge

By Autumn of 1974 the government, which was not prepared for the sheer numbers of returned prostheses and organs, declared a state of medical emergency. Warehouses up and down the country spilled over with artificial legs, arms and buttocks.

"It looked like the piles of confiscated possessions one sees at concentration camps," said one man who was forced to return all his limbs and an ovary he wasn't aware he had.

Mountains of returned livers, kidneys and hearts (and even children who had been born as a result of artificial insemination) spoiled in unrefridgerated conditions and the overwhelmed government had no choice but to return the decaying, by now useless  organs to their owners. However, to make amends they did also send packs of complimentary lemon-fresh hand wipes.

Though thousands died, the government did not consider it to be a failing of the NHS. The fault was squarely aimed at the public who were accused of being unhygienic and told to wash more.

Returned prostheses: Wellcome Library, London.

Falling Disorder (mid-1970s)

In the mid-1970s, Scarfolk was under pressure from the government to investigate a high incidence of suicides and tourist deaths in the region.* In 1974 alone there were 356 cases.

The mayor appointed the council-funded Scarfolk College, which was run by Dr. James Marde, the mayor's "bestest friend in the whole wide world," to help conduct the enquiry.

A trained psychologist, Dr. Marde soon identified a hitherto unknown condition, which he named Falling Disorder. It was this, he insisted, that was responsible for the many inexplicable demises.

According to Marde, Falling Disorder led the sufferer to tie their hands behind their own back and hurl themselves from high places.

The discovery appears to have made a considerable impact because council statistics showed that there were zero official reports of suicides or unlawful deaths in 1975, and the government was appeased. However, there were approximately 360 new cases of terminal Falling Disorder.


*For a related post go here to learn about 'Scarfolk Drop'.

"Twice Tasty" Secondhand food schemes (1970s)

Tolerating poor people has always been a challenge to more civilised, useful members of society.
Because of a historical legal statute the poor, unemployed and homeless were not formally recognised as homo sapiens until 1971. Before then they were officially categorised as a class of 'fruit or vegetable' below melon but slightly higher than turnip. Technically, this meant that they could be traded, thrown at petty criminals and fed to pigs, though this rarely occurred.

The government always endeavoured to strike a balance between eliminating the poor (and thus the strain on society) and needing them to fulfill menial, demeaning work:  cleaner, road sweep, theologian, etc. It was Dr. Max Gongfarmer, professor of Socially Debased Ethics, who had the idea of feeding secondhand food to the poor after reading an amateur historian's account of Marie-Antoinette's life. According to the typo-ridden book, she uttered "Let them eat cak."

Unsurprisingly, the poor, who have no sense of aesthetics or cleanliness, welcomed the idea and it thrived in 1970s Scarfolk, as can be seen from this newspaper advertisement for the COUP supermarket chain. 

"Son Oil" Baby Marinade (1979)

It has been some time since the mayor permitted us access to his collection of 1970s pharmaceutical postcards. Here's one for the summer:

The text on the reverse of the postcard:

"A child's skin is vulnerable and can easily burn, which could impair the flavour. To avoid damaging the skin first blanch the child for fives minutes then generously apply Son Oil. Add salt, pepper and newts to taste, then leave the child in the garden during the hottest part of the day. Whimpering usually means that the child is ready to be transferred to the grill or oven. Warning: Illegitimate or unbaptized children burn more quickly."

Primary school tapeworm experiments (1970s)

Back in the 1970s there was no way of ascertaining how some medical products might affect humans.

Rabbits, chimps and other animals were needed for dark ritualistic purposes and human volunteers were not forthcoming, especially after several high-profile medical scandals.

The Cavalier Pharmaceutical Company hit on the brilliant idea of publishing a series of primary school science and maths books. They donated them along with a generous endowment to Scarfolk Education Board which had no choice but to introduce the books to the curriculum.

The textbooks invited young children to conduct experiments on themselves and record the data, which contributed to higher end-of-year grades. The best scoring pupils from each school were awarded the chance to try out the medicine to which their schoolwork had contributed. They also won free cigarettes, as well as courses of either anti-seizure or anti-psychotic medication.

There's another page from the Scarfolk maths and science book here.
 

(click image to enlarge)

1970s greetings cards

On the subject on stationers (see previous post), here's a greetings card sold during the mid-70s. This one was recently found behind a radiator in the Scarfolk police department of homicide and light entertainment.

Back in 1976 James Sprout was found dead in a Scarfolk canal. He was in a sack weighed down by his favourite toys (Action Man 'plague doctor', Fisher-Price 'death row' and concrete Play-doh)

A murder investigation was soon underway but the police ultimately found no evidence of foul play. They concluded that James had somehow inflicted upon himself a severe head injury from behind then, delirious, climbed into the sack. A forensics expert postulated that while James snoozed, the sack was then dragged four miles by either a vast litter of feral kittens, or the ghosts of unvaccinated foreigners, to the canal bridge where James fell to his watery grave.

When James' grief-stricken parents learned of their son's tragic fate they entered a lengthy period of mourning, consoling themselves by opening a beach-front bar in Barbados where they moved the day after James' funeral.

Mills & Boon: "Catheters, Kisses & Colostomies" 1974

Until 1971 married women were only allowed to leave their husbands' homes if they had the appropriate documentation. The so-called 'Wife Pass' also restricted married ladies to selected shops: supermarkets, hairdressers, bingo halls, etc.

However, once a year, ladies could enter a bookshop (if accompanied by a man), but only to buy recipe books, cheap romance novels, or calenders containing photographs of kittens frolicking in wool.

The 'Pass' listed a wife's government-allocated prettiness rating, her most accomplished household skills (bed making, cooking, dog worming, etc), as well as her preferred brands of washing powder and other cleaning products.

The author of "Catheters, Kisses & Colostomies," Gigi Feague, was actually a violent schizophrenic called Trevor 'Terror' Chlidge who, when not smearing himself with his own faeces and screaming in his Scarfolk Prison cell, wrote dozens of romance books, as well as guides for parents about childcare and child development in general. 

Vicks Vaporub Blindness Ointment, 1978

You've probably not even recovered from the excitement of the last postcard from the mayor's rare 1970s pharmaceutical collection, yet here's another bombshell.

This is the Vicks Vaporub postcard from 1978 that came free with multi-pack orders of prosthetic eyes.
Vicks Vaporub was originally invented to temporarily blind children for up to one hour while parents did things they didn't want their offspring to witness.

The original Vicks formula also contained a psychotropic ingredient that caused hallucinations, but it was withdrawn after a class of contagious children escaped from Scarfolk high-security infant school posing as alarmed peahens.

Summer Holiday Diseases Colouring Book, 1976

This is another page from the hospital records of the anonymous little girl who was found wandering Scarfolk in 1976 (more here)

The colouring book itself was produced by Scarfolk Council Health Board Service Council and was distributed throughout hospitals, schools and junior covens.

While providing children with a fun creative pastime, it also subtly alerted them to the dangers of horrific diseases such as rabies and bed wetting, instilling in the children a deep-seated fear of foreigners, close relatives, harmless household objects, animals, vegetables shaped like animals, and belly buttons (see Barbara the omphalophobic office hand puppet).

Water Electrification, 1974

This public information message was posted on walls around Scarfolk and published as a full-page ad in the local weekly newspaper, The Scarfolk Herald.

Very soon after water electrification began many Scarfolk children started recalling previous lives. Six year old Dominic Flinch could remember the whole of his history through innumerable incarnations.

For example, he was surprised to recall that, two thousand years ago, one of his previous selves had invented Christmas purely to get out of going to school. It quickly became a popular excuse and flourished.

Dominic also recalled being a duck.

Rabies public information poster from 1972

A  poster frequently seen around Scarfolk in the early 70s, especially in schools, libraries and hospitals.

Self-help 1974

Scarfolk has a department of mental health but no one works there. Instead they have a series of 'help cards' designed to promote a feeling of well-being.

Scarfolk Primary School maths book

Here is a page from Scarfolk Primary School's maths book for 6 to 7 year olds. It was taken out of the curriculum in 1979.

We Watch You While You Sleep: A Scarfolk Public Information poster

I remember this Scarfolk public information poster on the wall of my doctor's waiting room, which was in the basement of a Victorian mental asylum.

ITV schools and colleges

For those who remember schools and colleges programming when you were at home sick from school with a fever. And was mine the only school that subjected children to slide shows of burns victims before bonfire night?