Do you have a limb weakened by wounds or bruises? The solution is simple. Take two puppy dogs (newly whelped) and boil them until they fall into pieces. Add a pound of earthworms and apply the resulting potion to the affected area (then wait for the RSPCA to come calling).
Fortunately in the 17th century, when this remedy was in common use, animal welfare came well behind patient rights and the concoction could be purchased over the counter at the local apothecary.
Apothecaries made their livings mixing, measuring and dispensing medicines prescribed by a qualified physician. But very few people could afford to consult a doctor, and as a result, apothecaries graduated to handing out drugs and amateur diagnostics. Their bible was pharmacopoeia - first published in 1618 - which laid down the recipes for everything from ointments to poultices and pills.
As standardised remedies spread, the name of the contents of the jars was painted onto them. Perhaps because of the tenuous status of the apothecary - somewhere between a medicine man and a quack - it was in their own interests to play up their trade, and fancy jars with Latin inscriptions made from delftware, a durable new type of pottery, began to be used.
And it is 420 of these English delftware drug jars that form the substance of the JF Wilkinson Collection at the Thackray Medical Museum in Leeds.
The collection, which also includes pill tiles and 200 continental drug jars, was bequeathed to the museum before it opened in 1996. Dr John Frederick Wilkinson, its owner, a distinguished haematologist (he had a type of anaemia named after him), laid down only one condition: the entire collection must go on permanent display.
Considering the rarity of the collection - most delftware collections may have one or two drug jars in among the crockery but Wilkinson was one of the few that concentrated solely on drug jars - the museum wasn't about to say no.
Alan Humphries, the librarian at the Thackray, didn't know a great deal about delftware when the collection was first offered - in fact he knew it was a type of pottery and that was about all. Ten years later he's an expert on the drug jars and has become obsessed with tracking down the remaining ones in public and private collections to compare designs, usage and attribution.
Accepting the collection when the museum was in the design stage helped, says Humphries, because they were able to give over an area that had been earmarked for temporary exhibition space to display the pots.
At the time there was very little evidence to indicate what the interior of a 17th-century apothecary would have looked like so instead of going for a re-creation of the inside of a shop, which would have been a stab in the dark, the in-house design team went for a simple and rather aesthetic display.
The pots lend themselves to this - they are of a similar shape and design and all (apart from the continental ones) have the distinctive blue and white glaze of delftware.
After the interactive blood, guts and gore of the rest of the museum (entertaining as it is) it is a relief to come to rest among Wilkinson's pots. The lighting is low and the jars are displayed on plain glass shelves and stands, which have the advantage of making it possible to view the jars from nearly every angle.
The labels and small graphic panels are concise and unobtrusive and answer basic questions about the collection such as how were the jars made (which is also illustrated by a small, effective display showing the jars in the various stages of production).
This is already a collection within a collection so it is intriguing to find yet another hoard on display. The Richmond collection of drug jars was put together by Matthew Bowes, and acquired by Wilkinson in 1956. Bowes's copy of pharmacopoeia is also on display alongside the jars that he collected.
The museum hasn't shied away from responsibility to the donor (all the pots are on display) and goes further by providing detailed background on Wilkinson that gives an insight into the man and his obsessions. A small side gallery has a display on the doctor and here we learn about his other idiosyncratic pastimes and opinions (keeping fish, the benefits of rice pudding and his love of Blackpool Pleasure Beach).
The last word has to go to the charismatic collector himself, commenting on his passion: 'Very little had been written about the jars when I began to collect, but I became interested and learnt as I went along. I can't bear not knowing things. Then lo and behold and joy in heaven I had the luck to get hold of some dated jars (they're very rare) and from then on I was hooked - I just couldn't stop.'
Fortunately in the 17th century, when this remedy was in common use, animal welfare came well behind patient rights and the concoction could be purchased over the counter at the local apothecary.
Apothecaries made their livings mixing, measuring and dispensing medicines prescribed by a qualified physician. But very few people could afford to consult a doctor, and as a result, apothecaries graduated to handing out drugs and amateur diagnostics. Their bible was pharmacopoeia - first published in 1618 - which laid down the recipes for everything from ointments to poultices and pills.
As standardised remedies spread, the name of the contents of the jars was painted onto them. Perhaps because of the tenuous status of the apothecary - somewhere between a medicine man and a quack - it was in their own interests to play up their trade, and fancy jars with Latin inscriptions made from delftware, a durable new type of pottery, began to be used.
And it is 420 of these English delftware drug jars that form the substance of the JF Wilkinson Collection at the Thackray Medical Museum in Leeds.
The collection, which also includes pill tiles and 200 continental drug jars, was bequeathed to the museum before it opened in 1996. Dr John Frederick Wilkinson, its owner, a distinguished haematologist (he had a type of anaemia named after him), laid down only one condition: the entire collection must go on permanent display.
Considering the rarity of the collection - most delftware collections may have one or two drug jars in among the crockery but Wilkinson was one of the few that concentrated solely on drug jars - the museum wasn't about to say no.
Alan Humphries, the librarian at the Thackray, didn't know a great deal about delftware when the collection was first offered - in fact he knew it was a type of pottery and that was about all. Ten years later he's an expert on the drug jars and has become obsessed with tracking down the remaining ones in public and private collections to compare designs, usage and attribution.
Accepting the collection when the museum was in the design stage helped, says Humphries, because they were able to give over an area that had been earmarked for temporary exhibition space to display the pots.
At the time there was very little evidence to indicate what the interior of a 17th-century apothecary would have looked like so instead of going for a re-creation of the inside of a shop, which would have been a stab in the dark, the in-house design team went for a simple and rather aesthetic display.
The pots lend themselves to this - they are of a similar shape and design and all (apart from the continental ones) have the distinctive blue and white glaze of delftware.
After the interactive blood, guts and gore of the rest of the museum (entertaining as it is) it is a relief to come to rest among Wilkinson's pots. The lighting is low and the jars are displayed on plain glass shelves and stands, which have the advantage of making it possible to view the jars from nearly every angle.
The labels and small graphic panels are concise and unobtrusive and answer basic questions about the collection such as how were the jars made (which is also illustrated by a small, effective display showing the jars in the various stages of production).
This is already a collection within a collection so it is intriguing to find yet another hoard on display. The Richmond collection of drug jars was put together by Matthew Bowes, and acquired by Wilkinson in 1956. Bowes's copy of pharmacopoeia is also on display alongside the jars that he collected.
The museum hasn't shied away from responsibility to the donor (all the pots are on display) and goes further by providing detailed background on Wilkinson that gives an insight into the man and his obsessions. A small side gallery has a display on the doctor and here we learn about his other idiosyncratic pastimes and opinions (keeping fish, the benefits of rice pudding and his love of Blackpool Pleasure Beach).
The last word has to go to the charismatic collector himself, commenting on his passion: 'Very little had been written about the jars when I began to collect, but I became interested and learnt as I went along. I can't bear not knowing things. Then lo and behold and joy in heaven I had the luck to get hold of some dated jars (they're very rare) and from then on I was hooked - I just couldn't stop.'
