Soap-Making Firm’s ‘Little Red Book’

Press, Volume CVII, Issue 31502, 17 October 1967, Page 3

Soap-Making Firm’s ‘Little Red Book’

(By

ZALIA THOMAS)

Soap has been used more than 4000 years—it is mentioned in the Book of Jeremiah in the Old Testament. The ancient Greeks used it and so did the Romans.

As Julius Caesar advanced across Europe, soap was introduced to France, and eventually, to Britain. But it was a rough product until 1789, when a young London hairdresser, Andrew Pears, invented his famous* transparent soap.

His product was far superior to any other on the market, and soon unscrupulous dealers were imitating not the soap itself, but the outer wrapper. As legal action could be taken only for forgery of a signature in those days, Andrew Pears had to sign each wrapper. This explains why for many years a facsimile signature appeared on every Pears wrapper. In 1865 a new era began when Thomas Barratt and Andrew Pears 11, the greatgrandson of the inventor, became joint proprietors of the company. Andrew looked after the factory at Isleworth and Thomas Barratt took responsibility for the London headquarters. After a careful study of advertising methods, Barratt spread the story of the soap’s invention and demonstrated, through experts, that every ingredient was pure. He used many ingenious ways of advertising, such as stamping the word “Pears” on

250,000 French centime pieces, which were widely circulated as currency in Britain in the 1880 s. These coins eventually became so numerous that a special act of Parliament was passed in 1885, making French coinage illegal. For £2OOO Barratt purchased Sir John Millars’ painting “Bubbles,” a portrait of a blond, curly-haired child. The child grew up to be Admiral Sir William James. This portrait is, even today, synonymous with the soap. A competition is still held annually to find the “prettiest child in Britain” and the winner is presented with a cheque for £5OO by the soap firm.

One of the most lasting and original advertisements, however, for the product was the little red “Shilling Cyclopaedia,” which had its place on many Victorian shelves between the family Bible and Dickens. It was taken down for advice when someone was ill; when one needed to know iiow to treat horses, cattle, sheep or dogs. There were notes on etiquette, a long floral glossary, a medical dictionary, an atlas, and a gazetteer. A compendium of general knowledge carried the heading, “A mass of curious and useful information about things that every one ought to know in commerce, politics, history, science, religion, literature, and other

topics of ordinary conversation.”

The first advertisement for the cyclopaedia produced 8794 applications for copies. The publication met a new demand for facts and ideas by many who had benefited by an Education Act passed two decades earlier. With it one was equipped to discuss with friends something other than tedious gossip, and could embark on important subjects such as why the Russians needed a port on the Mediterranean, or why clergymen lived much longer than the rest of the community. From its modest start of fewer than 9000 copies, Pears Cyclopaedia—which this year celebrates its seventieth anniversary—has a guaranteed circulation of 110,000.