Transcription
Follow Venturians viewers may like to know that all the names in the following sketch are genuine Victorian names. Good day. [Music]
Mr. Butler isn't here today, so I'll be taking the register now. I don't know any of you, so be sure to call out when you hear your name. Raspberry, Lemon, Lettuce, Burger, Buffalo. I'm sorry, I I think I must have picked up a shopping list. No, miss, those are children's names; they're not answering because they're off sick. Buffalo and Raspberry, honestly. Christian names have got really weird since Victoria became Queen. Well, okay, on with the register. My name is— Sit down. What are you talking about? You said okay. I'm the register. I'm okay. Okay, Johnson. Well, okay, uh, unless I give permission, never get out of your seat. Yes, Miss. Why are you standing up? You said never get out of your seat. I'm never— Never. Rook. Rook. Has nobody got an ordinary name in this classroom? Yes, Toilet. All right, be quick. No, that's my name. I think that's quite a normal name. My sister's called Baboon. Toilet and Baboon? Your parents must be evil. No, that's Evil over there. Yes, I've got an ordinary name, Miss. It's Susan. Ah, that's more like it. Kids, you can— Semolina thrower. Right, let's just try and get through this, shall we? I'll say your name, you say "here," and I'll try not to say your names accidentally. Happy. Yes, Miss. Don't tell me your name's Happy. Right, register, here we go. Freezer. Breezer. Here, Miss. Princess Cheese. Hey, Miss. Minty Badger. Hey, Miss. Scary Looker. No, I'm sorry. Why would anybody call their child Scary Looker? Forget I asked. Now I am, Miss. Farting Clack. Yes, those really were all real Victorian names. Minty Badger and Princess Cheese. Hey, it makes what celebrities call their children nowadays almost normal. Yeah, right. Did you know we Victorians were a very inventive bunch? But sometimes the old methods are the best methods. Good day. [Music]
This is Victorian Dragon's Den. It's Victorian Britain, an age of Enterprise and Industry when many great inventions were well invented by inventors. So, can any of tonight's candidates convince the dragons to put money behind their ideas? First up, it's Mr. Nathaniel Twonk. Gentlemen and ladies, allow me to explain a most efficacious device that I have invented. I call it the Automatic Bottle Washer. This device will automatically wash bottles for hours on end without the need for attention or adjustment. Foreign. [Music]
Our next hopeful inventor is Mrs. Edwina Gruel Bucket. Gentlemen and Madden, I wish to present you with a golden opportunity to invest in my most marvelous invention, the Automatic Potato Harvester. Oh, wonderful. I did— I'm in. Well, it's been a good day for our hopefuls so far. Let's see if Sir Chesterton Widebelly can make it a clean sweep. Ladies and gentlemen, I have invented something which I believe will truly change the world. I call it the Vacuum Cleaner. [Laughter] What does it do? It sucks. All right, the dragons aren't impressed. Never mind. Can Chesterton win them round? You could use this instead. Ah, you see now, that's more like it. Yes, I mean— Oh, I'm in. I mean, yes. The children do all sorts of terrible jobs, but they also invented lots of technology: electricity, the railway, steel ships, the car, the radio. [Music] Noise. They're sick. [Music] One, two more if you need it. [Music] If you like to take [Music] me. Yeah. Welcome to the British Hotel. [Music] Foreign. [Music] [Music] [Music] [Music] Hello. My name is— well, it's none of your concern. You're watching The Real Victorian Hassle, the show where real Victorian criminals show you their Victorian scams and hustles. First up, an entry-level hustle: The Shivering Dodge. On a cold morning, just wear your thinnest clothes and shiver like crazy. With any luck, some Tom, tug, mug will take pity on you. Oh, Mario, poor street urchin, you look positively freezing. I am perishing cold, sir. Here, buy yourself something warm. Oh, thank you, kind sir. Look at you. [Music] How come— how come do you— does the yard work, but you get us to keep the spangled? Because I'm the brains. Next hustle: The Lucifer Dodge. All you need is a tray full of matches to sell and, of course, another rich Tom Tuck. Just pretends they've made you spill the matches. Here's something for your trouble, boy. [Music] It's last—half the school—Dream Dodge. You just cover your bare arms with soap and rub in some vinegar. The unholy mess should look like ugly blisters. Oh, please help me, sir. I'm so very sick. If the soap on your arms isn't working for you, then you can also try sticking some soap in your mouth or even try strapping a leg up to make it look like you've lost one. Trying any of these hassles? Police are wise to them, largely because most Victorian police officers are ex-criminals who grew up doing them themselves. There he is, Officer. There's the man who stole all my money. You're nicked. One other Victorian hustle was to eat bread left out for the birds until someone took pity on you and gave you some cash. Though, trust me, do not try nicking bread off a swan. They may look pretty, but they're ugly on the inside. Disease was rife in Victorian London, and so the graveyards filled up very quickly, and we had to find other places to bury our dead. Good day. Hello, hello. Two tickets to Brookwood, please. Single or return ticket, Madam? Return for me and a single for my husband. Taking the Necropolis Railway, aren't we? Yes, indeed. It's very convenient. Yeah, so when you run out of room to bury people in the city, it does make sense to put your cemeteries further out. Plus, you get a lovely day out in the countryside. Yeah, and my husband does love dreams. Well, he did, of course he did. First class, second class, or third class? First class for me and your husband. Great. Would you like a window seat? What, do you need a view? No, but it does make it easier to shove him out once you get to the cemetery. Excuse—excuse me, are you going to be long? I lost my husband last week. You and me both. No—oh, right, you are. Well, I think you might be in luck. Somebody handed him in last week, and I, for one, will not be sad to see him go. Could you not hurry up? All my relatives have died of consumption. Do you have a family rail card, sir? Sit in a family room—card. In this week's episode of Victorian Undercover Proprietor, so Titus Salt has gone into the mills where he made his fortune. He's disguised as one of the workers to see what life is really like for his employees. Tonight. Noisy. It's Smokey too. It gets into the lungs. Sorry, I see the stock gets into your lungs. Right. Mama gets into the lungs. [Music] Finally got the message about terrible conditions his employees working in. The living conditions are much better. What, kid? Says the new book I was telling you about. New block, wife, kids. Pleased to meet you. Could I possibly use your lavatory? Oh, what a story. Laboratory? A small room outside you used to do your business. Your business? No, it's not my business. I'm just a humble worker. Oh, you said to do your business. Yes, a toilet. A small room you used to poo in. Disgusting. Just go in the backyard. Let everybody else—Okay. Oh, will you not stare? For your tea. I'd love to. What is for tea? I think it's—yeah, nothing tonight. We can't afford it. Luckily, we're not that hungry because—oh, the cotton fluff from the mill gets in our bellies. I wish you wouldn't do that. Not wanting to spend any longer living with them than he absolutely has to, Titus has decided it's already time to reveal his true identity to the Hovel family. I expect you're wondering why I brought you here. I'm not a humble mill worker. I am, in fact, the owner of these here mills. So, Tied to Salt. No, no. I knew it. I knew that were a disguise as soon as I saw the daft fake beer. Ow. I'm so sorry. Sorry. Over this past week—well, day—I've experienced firsthand the hardships of working in one of my mills. I've seen how tough it is for you to live in such a horrible, dirty, filthy, cramped, disgusting little hovel. So, I'm going to build a new village. I'm going to call it Saltaire. Little me? A model village. I will never fit in it. Not that sort of model village. It'll be the model of all villages should be. Everything you could possibly want will be there: fresh air, hospital, the church, even reading—reading cover it. I—but your children will be able to—for there will be a school there. You'll even have your own lavatory. Why would anyone want a small room to poo in? And I should build a new, cleaner mill nearby where you can work for me. I'm not being funny, but what's in it for you? Well, happy, healthy people make better workers. You got yourself a deal. All right. Just one question. Fire away, my friend. Sure. That's not a fake beard. Don't push it. Next week on Victorian Undercover Proprietor, Lord Lever reveals his plans to build his factory workers' houses, which have bathrooms. Lots of bathrooms. It's a small room with a bath in it. What's a bath? It's where you wash yourself with soap. What's soap? This is going to be harder than I thought. Victorian bosses are so tight. Salt, the Lever brothers, Joseph Rowntree, and George Cadbury created cleaner, better accommodation for their factory employees, but did any of them think about how this would affect the factory rats? Not one. It's an absolute scandal. [Music] The past is stories.