The Three Mustardeers
Aug. 26th, 2023 07:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rosanicus
So after posting the photo of one part of the Colman's Mustard advertising serial, I went back through all my grandma's old Eagles and managed to find all the other parts of the serial contained within. Then I googled to try and find the rest and realised that (unless I missed a very niche fansite) they haven't been digitised anywhere, which I could not let stand.
Here are the two earliest ones I could find and transcribe. This is before they ever met the Slipper, even!
Every number ends with a repetition of The Mustardeer's Oath, which goes thusly: We will have Mustard whenever we can get it. Mustard makes good food taste better. We will have Mustard -- Colman's Mustard.
And so the adventures begin! The Famous Five influence hangs heavy over the text doesn't it. I think the presence of the Slipper as an ongoing nemesis to three twelve year olds makes the later adverts much funnier but even these ones are decently written. Whatever copy-writer or anonymous author they got to write the Three Mustardeers was clearly enjoying themselves.
However, I still have absolutely no desire to buy Colman's Mustard, so perhaps the advertorial value is limited.
P.S. If it wasn't obvious this is a method of procrastination. But it relates to media preservation so I can forgive myself in small doses.
Here are the two earliest ones I could find and transcribe. This is before they ever met the Slipper, even!
Every number ends with a repetition of The Mustardeer's Oath, which goes thusly: We will have Mustard whenever we can get it. Mustard makes good food taste better. We will have Mustard -- Colman's Mustard.
The Three Mustardeers and The MAN who knew TOO MUCH [sic]
"Bother Shakespeare!" said Roger venomously. "And blow Macbeth!" He had left his homework so late that he was still trying to learn it as the Mustardeers waited for the bus.
The only person near was a news-vendor, whose placard read "President Marco lands ar Dove." But just as the bus came in sight another man ran up and joined them. He looked as though he was about to say something. But before he could open his mouth a big black car drew up beside them. Three men leapt out and one said to the newcomer, "James Malcolm, I hold a warrant for your arrest, and it is my duty to warn you that anything you say may be used as evidence against you."
Malcolm said loudly, "We are not amused." He allowed the men to hustle him into the car, but as he went he cried, "The raven himself is hoarse." Then he was gone.
"Crackers," commented Jim.
"I'm not so sure," said Roger. "But we're not going to school today!" "Where, then?" asked Mary.
"Scotland Yard!" said Roger grimly. "Listen, those men weren't policemen. No policeman says 'used as evidence against you,' they just say 'used as evidence.' Second, the man they kidnapped was trying to tell us something. 'We are not amused,' was a saying of Queen Victoria. And 'the raven himself is hoarse,' is from Macbeth. It goes on ' . . . that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan.' Duncan was a visitor who was going to be murdered. And there's a distinguished visitor, President Marco, due at Victoria station in three-quarters of an hour!"
The train bearing the great foreign statesman was in sight! There was an expectant stir in the delegation of welcome. The Three Mustardeers, still clutching their school books, pressed against the barrier in an agony of anxiety.
Scores of extra police were keeping the crowds back to a safe distance. Plain clothes men were everywhere. Only the Press photographers were allowed near the platform. But would these precautions be enough?
The train thundered to a halt. The President descended, smiling. But what was that photographer doing? Why was his arm going back like that? Was that a camera in his hand--or a bomb?
Something whizzed through the air--and the 'camera' fell to the ground--struck from the assassin's hand by a volume of "Chemistry for Beginners" hurled by Jim. There was a deafening explosion. When the smoke cleared away the only casualty was seen to be the would be murderer.
After the Mustardeers had received the President's personal thanks, Roger said, "Looks as though the Head was right when he said no house should be without a Shakespeare."
"He should have said mustard," said Jim. "You need that every day."
The only person near was a news-vendor, whose placard read "President Marco lands ar Dove." But just as the bus came in sight another man ran up and joined them. He looked as though he was about to say something. But before he could open his mouth a big black car drew up beside them. Three men leapt out and one said to the newcomer, "James Malcolm, I hold a warrant for your arrest, and it is my duty to warn you that anything you say may be used as evidence against you."
Malcolm said loudly, "We are not amused." He allowed the men to hustle him into the car, but as he went he cried, "The raven himself is hoarse." Then he was gone.
"Crackers," commented Jim.
"I'm not so sure," said Roger. "But we're not going to school today!" "Where, then?" asked Mary.
"Scotland Yard!" said Roger grimly. "Listen, those men weren't policemen. No policeman says 'used as evidence against you,' they just say 'used as evidence.' Second, the man they kidnapped was trying to tell us something. 'We are not amused,' was a saying of Queen Victoria. And 'the raven himself is hoarse,' is from Macbeth. It goes on ' . . . that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan.' Duncan was a visitor who was going to be murdered. And there's a distinguished visitor, President Marco, due at Victoria station in three-quarters of an hour!"
The train bearing the great foreign statesman was in sight! There was an expectant stir in the delegation of welcome. The Three Mustardeers, still clutching their school books, pressed against the barrier in an agony of anxiety.
Scores of extra police were keeping the crowds back to a safe distance. Plain clothes men were everywhere. Only the Press photographers were allowed near the platform. But would these precautions be enough?
The train thundered to a halt. The President descended, smiling. But what was that photographer doing? Why was his arm going back like that? Was that a camera in his hand--or a bomb?
Something whizzed through the air--and the 'camera' fell to the ground--struck from the assassin's hand by a volume of "Chemistry for Beginners" hurled by Jim. There was a deafening explosion. When the smoke cleared away the only casualty was seen to be the would be murderer.
After the Mustardeers had received the President's personal thanks, Roger said, "Looks as though the Head was right when he said no house should be without a Shakespeare."
"He should have said mustard," said Jim. "You need that every day."
The Three Mustardeers Pull the Plug out
"In a story, of course," said Jim, "that bottle would have an exciting message in it." He pointed to a stoppered bottle that bobbed slowly down river, past where the Three Mustardeers were fishing.
"From a beauteous damozel," suggested Roger sleepily, "immured in--in durance vile or something." "As a matter of fact," said Jim, with a new note in his voice, "it has got a bit of paper in it." He reached out and guided the bottle to shore with the tip of his rod. "It probably says, 'Who's a sucker?'" said Roger. "It doesn't," said Jim. "It says 'Kidnappers holding me in . . .' Then it breaks off. And I'm sorry to be melodramatic, but it's written on a scrap of wall-paper, in what seems to be blood." Roger and Mary were sitting up straight now. "She was interrupted before she could finish," said Roger.
"She?" said Mary. Roger ignored her. "There's only one place it could be," he went on, "and that's the old mill upstream. There's a grid on the weir there, for catching rubbish. The bottle couldn't have got past that."
The abandoned mill was a forbidding place, half-ruinous, with rows of broken or boarded windows. The Mustardeers looked at it helplessly from across the millpond, where they hid beside the flood-gates in the weir. Where in all the gaunt pile was the kidnapper's victim? "Obviously, behind one of the boarded windows," said Jim. "There are about twenty," said Mary. "The one with a ventilator hole a few feet above it," said Roger. "That's the way the bottle came out. And that," he went on, pointing to the massive growths of ivy that clung to the wall, "That's the way I'm going in." And he pulled off his shoes and coat and slipped into the water. Three minutes later he was inching his way up the ivy.
The main stem of the ivy led close to a window on the same floor as that they had marked down. Roger cautiously transferred his hands to the sill, raised his head and peered in. Then he heaved himself through--and vanished into the decaying mill!
He was gone for what seemed a long time. Then suddenly he appeared again at the window and beside him was a girl of about twelve! "Jump!" he was urging her. "Jump! They're here!" The girl jumped, with Roger after her. And a face, distorted with fury, appeared at the window they had just left. Splash! They were swimming--but higher up the pond a group of men were launching a boat. Roger and the girl scrambled ashore--but the boat was no more than twenty yards away, and the girl was too exhausted to run. And then--a roar and a swoosh of water and there was Jim, furiously turning the wheel that raised the flood-gates. The mill-pond was emptying itself like a bath! And the kidnappers were fast aground, stranded in deep, soft mud! They were in the same state, except that their language was worse, when the police collected them an hour later."
"The child's father is Sir Sigurd Fardel, the motor manufacturer," said a Superintendent. "He'll be pretty grateful to you kids. What are you going to do now?" "Eat our sandwiches," said Jim. "We can't miss them. Mother made 'em with mustard."
"From a beauteous damozel," suggested Roger sleepily, "immured in--in durance vile or something." "As a matter of fact," said Jim, with a new note in his voice, "it has got a bit of paper in it." He reached out and guided the bottle to shore with the tip of his rod. "It probably says, 'Who's a sucker?'" said Roger. "It doesn't," said Jim. "It says 'Kidnappers holding me in . . .' Then it breaks off. And I'm sorry to be melodramatic, but it's written on a scrap of wall-paper, in what seems to be blood." Roger and Mary were sitting up straight now. "She was interrupted before she could finish," said Roger.
"She?" said Mary. Roger ignored her. "There's only one place it could be," he went on, "and that's the old mill upstream. There's a grid on the weir there, for catching rubbish. The bottle couldn't have got past that."
The abandoned mill was a forbidding place, half-ruinous, with rows of broken or boarded windows. The Mustardeers looked at it helplessly from across the millpond, where they hid beside the flood-gates in the weir. Where in all the gaunt pile was the kidnapper's victim? "Obviously, behind one of the boarded windows," said Jim. "There are about twenty," said Mary. "The one with a ventilator hole a few feet above it," said Roger. "That's the way the bottle came out. And that," he went on, pointing to the massive growths of ivy that clung to the wall, "That's the way I'm going in." And he pulled off his shoes and coat and slipped into the water. Three minutes later he was inching his way up the ivy.
The main stem of the ivy led close to a window on the same floor as that they had marked down. Roger cautiously transferred his hands to the sill, raised his head and peered in. Then he heaved himself through--and vanished into the decaying mill!
He was gone for what seemed a long time. Then suddenly he appeared again at the window and beside him was a girl of about twelve! "Jump!" he was urging her. "Jump! They're here!" The girl jumped, with Roger after her. And a face, distorted with fury, appeared at the window they had just left. Splash! They were swimming--but higher up the pond a group of men were launching a boat. Roger and the girl scrambled ashore--but the boat was no more than twenty yards away, and the girl was too exhausted to run. And then--a roar and a swoosh of water and there was Jim, furiously turning the wheel that raised the flood-gates. The mill-pond was emptying itself like a bath! And the kidnappers were fast aground, stranded in deep, soft mud! They were in the same state, except that their language was worse, when the police collected them an hour later."
"The child's father is Sir Sigurd Fardel, the motor manufacturer," said a Superintendent. "He'll be pretty grateful to you kids. What are you going to do now?" "Eat our sandwiches," said Jim. "We can't miss them. Mother made 'em with mustard."
And so the adventures begin! The Famous Five influence hangs heavy over the text doesn't it. I think the presence of the Slipper as an ongoing nemesis to three twelve year olds makes the later adverts much funnier but even these ones are decently written. Whatever copy-writer or anonymous author they got to write the Three Mustardeers was clearly enjoying themselves.
However, I still have absolutely no desire to buy Colman's Mustard, so perhaps the advertorial value is limited.
P.S. If it wasn't obvious this is a method of procrastination. But it relates to media preservation so I can forgive myself in small doses.
no subject
Date: 2023-08-26 08:37 pm (UTC)