Sweet Little Lies: The Curious Sally Lunn

Sally Lunn aka Boston Bun, image courtesy of and © Full Little Tummies blog.

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A friend turned up to stay for a couple of days, toting a pile of goodies for me – including a stack of early 1970s Woman’s Weeklies. In between reminiscing over the ads – the conversation quickly turned to fondly remembered baked goods of yesteryear – in particular from the Lane’s bakery chain including the classic crescent rolls and of course the ubiquitous Sally Lunn. (Lane’s was founded in the 1900s and, based around the central and north area of Auckland – had stores in Takapuna, Milford, Devonport, Browns Bay, and Greenlane – going out of business around 1979, according to records). I wondered out loud if the Sally Lunn was as uniquely New Zealand as I assumed it was – and imagined that like most of these classic Kiwi things from the Boomer and X generation I investigate – there wasn’t going to be any documentation on the actual origins to be found. Before I knew it my curiosity was piqued.

 The earliest publishing in a paper of the recipe for Sally Lunn. Evening Post, November 1881. I don’t know what is particularly “Darjeeling” about this bizarre styling of the recipe or what “burra consomah” means ( or even what language it is, one could assume it is Bengali, but apparently not). Courtesy of the National Library of New Zealand.

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Was there an interesting story there, or any story at all? And was Sally Lunn actually ever a real person ? Most importantly, was it a Kiwi creation we could claim as our own? Well, sort of to the first question, likely no to the second, and it seems a yes to that last one. The traditional Sally Lunn actually has its origins in Europe (likely France), and the “official history” is surprisingly well documented in that it is repeated in slightly different variations all over the place. In fact the house with the original bakery where it was supposedly created, going back to 1482, still stands in Bath, as a museum and eatery.

Pink Boston Bun, courtesy of and © Leigh C Russell, Rushleigh The At Home Chronicle blog.

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However the Sally Lunn that we are familiar with today has absolutely no resemblance whatsoever to what is considered the rather humble, genuine and quite particular British one. The original Sally Lunn, aka the Bath Bun, is a large, plain, almost saucer size bun (it looks a lot like a Wimpy burger bun to me) and similar in texture to brioche – which makes sense since apparently Solange Luyon was a French Huguenot refugee whom, escaping protestant persecution in her home country, arrived to Stuart period Britain in 1680 and found work at the bakery in Lilliput Alley (now North Parade Passage) – starting as a street hawker for the business. Soon enough her creation became a popular delicacy eaten with sweet or savoury accompaniments and she was relegated to the bake-house full-time to do what she did best.

Boston Buns in a Canterbury PAK’nSAVE. Image courtesy and © testpatern on Flickr.

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Anyway, opinion from historian quarters seems to be that this story – and the one about her original recipes being found hidden in a secret cupboard during renovation – is a bunch of hooey and there’s no proof that Sollie or her stashed scribblings ever really existed. Stories coming out of the museum wildly differ . One is that the secret recipe is locked away with the original house deeds. Another is that they were conveniently lost by an owner when the need arose to produce them. Not to mention that the cast iron stove they claim she cooked on – would not have existed – and therefore have not been in use until around 1800 when they were invented. It is suspected that the whole thing may be no more than a fanciful story created by artist Marie Byng-Johnson to create a bit of publicity (and ergo, cash) when she bought and renovated the building in the late 1930s and relaunched it as a business. In other words, “totally bogus” as my friend with the Woman’s Weeklies would offer.

Sally Lunn’s House and Museum. Image courtesy and © rmballde on Flickr.

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Another part of the apparent saga is that French chef, Antoine Careme who was the Prince Regent’s chef for a short time in Britain , cosied up to Sally and stole off with her bun recipe, transformed into a teacake which he renamed and presented in his home country as the Solilemme. Now I really think this one is nonsense. I doubt the French would steal gastronomy from the English! However the Solilemme, or Soleil et Lune (Sun and Moon Cake), does sound a lot like “Sally Lunn” when called out – so you can imagine that, in a similar fashion to my story a while back on how Hokey Pokey got it’s name through verbal distortion, it became what it is today via bad pronunciation, laziness, and lack of attention to detail. When in doubt – dumb it down.

The Dalmer version of the Sally Lunn story – in which she’s never mentioned as being French. Auckland Star, July 1933.Courtesy of the National Library of New Zealand.

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Regardless, the variation of the story with the poor put-upon foreign émigré and her white cloth-covered basket trolling the alleys is the most popular and has now entered common vernacular as “the real deal” well and truly – there is no going back. Sally undoubtedly had perky buns, but for all the tale’s persuasive cutesy charm she may have been an unattractive, foul-mooded old harridan – and possibly even the very individual that locked the baker apprentices in a cupboard (according to a museum sign). And maybe not French at all.

The Dalmer version of the Sally Lunn story – in which he writes a song about her that becomes popular and makes a fortune off buns and music royalties. Wanganui Chronicle, January 1912. Courtesy of the National Library of New Zealand.

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To prove a point – the histories of her and her tasty creation I found in early New Zealand newspapers even wildly differed by a century. However in my experience, there’s usually a scrap of truth nestled in the origins of a ludicrous-sounding story somewhere. Like most legends that get passed from one source to the next they change dramatically in the re-telling and are embroidered upon or adjusted for maximum palatability until they barely resemble the original (basically, the main theme of this whole article). All that aside, as Diana Vreeland was known to have said – “it is permissible to lie if it makes the story more interesting.” I can’t see a problem.

Old Lilliput Alley sign in Sally Lunn’s House and Museum.

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From my research this story was being perpetuated in print in New Zealand as far back as the 1870s that I can find – disproving the theory that Byng-Johnson came up with it, at least – on her own – but no doubt gave it an almighty shove. However it is not the only story around if one cares to look into it a bit more. The bottom line is that a reference to the Sally Lunn did not appear until a century after they say she started making them (Dickens then mentions them in a short story in 1812), and published recipes following from the 1830s. By the 1870s the treat had been immortalized in song in the comic opera “The Sorcerer” – “Now for the muffins and toast, now for the gay Sally Lunn… the rollicking, rollicking bun…” So how did it metamorphisise from a fairly plain roll into a frosted, baroque fruit bun, more reminiscent of Easter on steroids – and more to the point -why?

Sally Lunn recipe, Clutha Leader, May 1890. Courtesy of the National Library of New Zealand.

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The very earliest actual recipe I could find published in a New Zealand paper named “Sally Lunn” was in 1881. I am sure there are no earlier ones, since the first Aotearoa-published cookbook was 1887. Telling is a recipe given of April 1882 which begins by stating – ” The original and only genuine Sally Lunn is made thus…” insinuating that the tradition had already been corrupted by then. Another in the Otago Witness of October makes mention of the use of baking powder in the “so-called “Sally Lunn ” having little in common the genuine article…”  Certainly through the 1870s the Borwick’s company were captalising on the new-fangled chemical cooking assistance – by recommending use of their product to make them. By the 1910s the traditional Lunn seems to have fallen by the wayside. A newspaper recipe of 1916 describes it as ” a very old world dainty, now scarcely ever seen on our tea tables”, denoting that the original version had truly gone out of fashion by then. By the 1930s and on they are considered a retro curiosity, an Australian article of 1947 now describing it as a “food oddity.” Like New Zealand, there was a history of recipes along similar lines of the traditional version in that country – as well as in the U.S. where Sally Lunn was published as a recipe from 1845 onwards – first adopted by the Quakers and eventually the bread with a slight modification, became a somewhat Southern tradition. A New Zealand recipe of 1882 mentions it as “(the) genuine (recipe), as made in Virginia kitchens”, insinuating it originated there. At least they got it right in that it was the correct, traditional recipe even if their geographical history was shonky.

Home-made Sally Lunn. Image courtesy and © Jocelyn at Mamas Style blog.

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In summary, in not one recipe between the 1840s and the 1940s – anywhere in the world – are dried fruit, coconut or even icing mentioned. And at no point has someone taken a look at the (now considered classic) New Zealand version, stuck their hand up and said – “hey, this thing is NOT a real Sally Lunn”, except for Virgil Evetts who wrote along similar lines in his entertaining article “Sally Lunn, Moon & Sun”  here, questioning just about all the same things that I am now. The New Zealand version is a doughy fruit-studded round or log with thick white or sometimes pink icing spread generously over the top – finished with lashings of desiccated coconut. Sometimes food colouring is even added to the dough to make it pink in hue. At the tuck shop they were usually shaped in long finger buns for individual serving convenience. Something similar – iced, coloured and flavoured was known as the London Bath Bun and had developed in England over a number of decades – except in New Zealand of my youth it was called a Chelsea Bun and was quite a separate thing from the Kiwi Sally Lunn – being a flat, sweet spiral with currants and pink icing glaze. It was flavoured with cinnamon , and there was no coconut. The description, noted by the late 1970s at latest, sounds in theory very similar to the Sally Lunn of Aotearoa we are familiar with from our youth – yet is not the same thing side by side at all – the classic British iced finger bun is more similar to the New Zealand Sally Lunn as we know it.

Original and genuine Sally Lunn recipe, Otago Witness, April 1882. Courtesy of the National Library of New Zealand.

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I was really hoping that the Sally Lunn was something that Aotearoa had taken from England and run with – but there doesn’t seem to be much evidence of any relation. It’s more likely that it is simply what is called a Boston Bun – ” a large spiced bun with a thick layer of coconut icing, prevalent in Australia and New Zealand. Traditionally the bun contained sieved potato, and sometimes raisins. It is served sliced, to accompany tea. The origin of the name is unknown. In New Zealand they’re often called a Sally Lunn, especially in the North Island…”, according to ever-reliable source Wikipedia.

Sally Lunn song from the comic opera “The Sorcerer.” Auckland Star, January 1878. Courtesy of the National Library of New Zealand.

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Many of the recipes include mashed potato, which was frequently used to bulk out baking during the years of war time rationing. I started to develop this tenuous theory around war time restrictions in effect having to do with the modifications to the Sally Lunn that stuck, and compensations that were elaborated on – but doesn’t really account for the addition of sugar (of which only half the usual amount could be used by commercial enterprises at the time), dried, fruit, coconut, and heaps of butter, or even vegetable fat – all which would have been considered hard-to-get and/or luxury items that were limited as late as 1950. That said I could not find a single reference to the Boston Bun before the end of WWII.

Pink Boston Bun, courtesy of and © Leigh C Russell, Rushleigh The At Home Chronicle blog.

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All the contemporary recipes for Boston Buns I found do actually accurately resemble the Sally Lunn we know today (sugar, raisins, currants, icing, coconut) more than the British article ever even vaguely did. The Boston Bun has no relation to Boston, Massachusetts, in the United States that I could find, (I checked with a U.S. born and bred chef friend who has a penchant for the trashy and pop and she had never heard of such a thing) nor does there seem to be any association with Boston, Lancashire, anything in the history to hint at it, or a recipe for a British “Boston Bun” . However I did find some references to Australian recipes and I will make an assumption that the Boston Bun actually IS unique to Australasia and was probably developed in the 1950s or 1960s. Who came up with it and why they named it as such – we will likely never know.

Food fashion of yesteryear: Maoriland Worker, June 1916. Courtesy of the National Library of New Zealand.

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The curious Lunn; a beguiling bun. In summary it turns out it is essentially not much more than the Boston renamed – probably because it sounded cute to school kids and rhymed with its namesake. Intrinsically Kiwi? It seems so, as long as you can ignore the fact that someone with a complete failure of their imagination named it after something that already existed and which had no resemblance to it – which is just irritating and rather stupid, not to mention misleading. And not so much “old school” it seems, if you are prepared to look further back than a couple of generations. So you can lower your napkin to half mast on the great history of the old treat. Regardless, it still brings back fond tuck shop memories for many though.

Sally Lunn, courtesy of and © Virgil Evetts, foodlovers.co.nz.

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Update, mid June 2015: A major breakthrough in the post 1940s  Sally Lunn story reared its  coconut-sprinkled head in the form of  some recipes from  one of the many  tomes issued by Maude Basham over the years. The ‘Aunt Daisy’s Favourite Cookery Book’ which was first printed 1952 by Whitcombe & Tombs (and re-issued for a number of years following) contained two recipes. One was ‘Sally Lunns with Baking Powder’ and the other was ‘Sally Lunns – Real.’  I haven’t seen the actual recipes so I have no idea what the difference was between them. Also, there was no recipe provided for  ‘Sally Lunns – Unreal’, which  is, ironically, a truthful statement, and may also have provided more clues. 

But more significantly, this advert dated  December 1952 from the Pahiatua Regent Theatre Film Schedule , which was printed regularly and distributed to every home in the district, funded by the local business advertisements within, shows that  the local home cookery had probably been making them for some time. We can assume this was before  Aunt Daisy got around to it in an official capacity by putting the recipe in print. 

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a All content of Longwhitekid copyright Darian Zam © 2013. All rights reserved.

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Packed With Good Memories

Front of a box for preserved ginger, probably dates from the late 1950s-early 1960s. The design never really changed over the decades. 
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Goldpack is a brand I remember well from the kitchen of my Gen X childhood. They were a regular in our house, for my mum often used the products for baking cakes, biscuits and sweets – back in the day when mothers actually had time to do that… as well as everything else, unlike now.
I loved the packets, with the lush bright cherries and the old-fashioned, exotic design of the ginger box that never seemed to update its slogan on the side – “a delicious sweetmeat, and after dinner aid to digestion”. Of course people had long stopped treating the product as an unusual, interesting dessert on its own, except maybe on Christmas time platters.
Like most kids I was constantly cutting bits of the boxes out to use for scrapbooks, collages and stuff when they were finished with… or sometimes even before. Cue parents yelling “WHO has been at this AGAIN?”

Front of a box for dried apple slices, probably dates from the mid-late 1950s. The artwork matches a label for Crest canned pie fruit which was in production about 1959.
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These images were lent to me for use by an Auckland historian who had previously worked in the industry for quite a a number of years (first at Butland, then at Heinz Watties), saw the blog and contacted me to ask if I’d be interested in some of the things that he had. It’s one of those moments that you live for when you do this sort of work. So of course I immediately said YES, as I had been wanting to get my hands on these for ages. I sort of remembered most of these in the back of my mind somewhere but it was a bit blurry at this point in time – and I had been longing to see them and take a trip down memory lane. Just as when I posted on Jay Tee patty pans back in March 2011:

https://longwhitekid.wordpress.com/2011/03/12/in-my-cups/

the minute I clapped my peepers on them it was an immediate sensory journey back in time. That’s true nostalgia.

Goldpack cake fruit, 1945
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I found an ad placed in the Auckland Star of 1929 where Goldpack Products of Rutland Street, Auckland central are advertising for “two girls, about 18”, and also a “respectable youth wanted”.  proving that they were already established and had at least one product by then. Goldpack tinned pears were on the market in 1930 until at least 1933 in 1 lb and bulk 22 lb tins,  by 1932 clover honey was for sale in bulk, and also in 1 lb wax pots – and ginger also in the stores in two different size packets; and it’s only by that year that archive dates indicate that it was formally registered as a business. Goldpack as a trademark came much later in 1935, when according to company literature, preserved lemon peel and cherries were rolling off the factory line for the first time in addition to the other products .

In 1938 the first mixed fruit product sold by individual box came out. Jack Butland was one of only two agents in New Zealand at the time who exclusively imported Australian dried fruit (the only other contenders I can think of are Sanitarium, Tasti Products which was established in 1932 and still going today, or the popular Celopak range from Wilson Foods Ltd). The sultanas, raisins and currants (and probably everything else in the range) were supplied to businesses in bulk, which, before the days of widespread self service meant your goods were divvied out by the grocer at your order – the usual procedure of that time.

Through the 1930s, ads were placed to dispense of “oak barrels, ex factory, 25 gallons, suitable (for) brewing, any quantity”. These were clearly what the preserved ginger was imported in either in syrup and then crystallised in the factory, or arriving as is and sorted into packets. This one was placed in 1938.
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Clearly tinned fruit and honey dropped by the wayside early on in the game. In 1945 the business was still registered at Rutland street, advertised as “a new, light and airy factory” – but at some point it moved to the corner of Newton Road and St Benedicts Street, in Eden Terrace (perhaps while the new Rutland Street factory was constructed).

Front of a box for crystallised cherries, probably dates from the late 1950s-early 1960s.  
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I don’t think much in the way of new products was added to this roster until the 1950s when presumably dried apple slices were tacked on ; I have posted the box front here. The only other example I have ever seen is in the General Store collection of the Ferrymead Heritage Park in Christchurch.

Clover honey, advertised in the Evening Post,April 1932

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By the 1960s Goldpack was producing preserved ginger, maraschino-style cherries by the jar to cater to the era of the still-existent cocktail hour, cake fruit mixture and crystallised cherries. I have a record of mixed peel being added in the 1970s although no doubt it was introduced much earlier since it was considered a cooking staple.

This curry probably replaced the Crest brand, possibly late 1960s

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A stock list of the whole range in late 1988 shows glacé cherries, maraschino cherries, mixed peel, crystallised ginger, diced ginger, whole and broken cherries, cocktail cherries, and a product named Red Cherrylike, which I am advised was made from coloured Mangolds, something I’d never heard of so I went exploring and, well – I learned something new, which is, while akin to huge white turnips – there’s nothing uninteresting about them.

Ginger box, in 1987

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The Mangerlwurzel, also known as the Fodder Beet (and as the Mango in nineteenth century America) began to be cultivated in the 1600s to feed cattle in the winter. Tough and sweet, but not fibrous, they are ideal to cut into shapes which dyed and flavoured – serve well as a cherry substitute. Mangelwurzel Hurling competitions are an old British tradition ( which continues today in the village of Sherston). They are also traditionally used to brew an alcoholic beverage. Knowing what I do of the British I would say the former was invented after over-imbibing of that latter.

A very rough illustration of the  crystallised ginger box, nevertheless it clearly shows the earliest incarnation of this product, from a Farmer’s ad of November 1929.

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Front of cake fruit box, possibly early 1960s

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Mangolds (also sold as their own product, Red Cherrylike, in bulk) were used as a substitute in the cheaper brand of cake fruit on the market also by Butland called Sunny Valley which was packaged in a poly bag; and marketed under a subsidiary name to give the impression that Butland didn’t have a complete stranglehold on the premium market. Whereas Goldpack, considered the choice brand, always had real (broken) glacé cherries in the mixture and was presented in a cardboard carton.

Most of the Goldpack range from a salesman’s portfolio, late 1980s.

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The agency duopoly on Australian dried fruits imported into New Zealand finished up in the late 1960’s when three others were introduced. These, now five, agents split up the country’s market into wholesalers for which each could exclusively supply at the same fixed price. Peter Michel says: ”I was a salesman for Butland selling the dried fruit in the mid 1970s to the wholesalers and merchants around the North Island. I think that none of my customers from then exist now. It was a very cosy arrangement that would be impossible to replicate today”.

Cocktail cherries by the jar, late 1980s – although – this label looks like it had not been updated for quite some time.

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I remember Goldpack Indian curry powder, pictured here from the late 1970s or early 1980s. I don’t know if there were other spices and herbs in the range at that time besides this. This product would likely have been a way for Butland to keep their former Crest curry powder in the marketplace after they had disposed of most their other significant interests to rival companies (canned goods like Crest Fine Foods, Blue Bonnet and Craig’s; and dairy products including Chesdale, Dixibell, and Dairylea to name some of the huge ones, although there were many more small brands with one or two products in the lines such as teas, condiments, personal products, etc).

“Gold Pack” (sic) Bartlett Pears  for sale at Woolworths in a 1 lb size, Evening Post, June 1933.

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This mixed peel box was in use from the late 1970s-late 1980s.

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The Butland story is quite a big one as a major, innovative New Zealand foodstuffs company in the second half of the twentieth century, which I briefly touched on when I wrote a fairly “low fat” post on Chesdale cheese back in December 2011 here:

https://longwhitekid.wordpress.com/2011/12/06/an-elaborate-process/

and as such I will save it for another chapter later on, because I reckon there’s at least two decent sized articles on that topic.

This mixed glace cherries box was in use from the late 1970s-late 1980s.

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By the 1980s Goldpack had moved to a division of Butland’s factory premises in Penrose. Kraft bought the business, including Goldpack, outright from Butland in 1989; they had owned 49% of the company for the eight years previous. When the factory moved from 644 Great South Rd in Penrose to 16 Dalgety Drive in Wiri, Manukau around 1991-1992, the brand was discontinued for good.

Label from maraschino cherries jar,  dates from the mid 1950s.

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“Goldpack Supreme Pudding” and “Goldpack Christmas Cake” are recipes still used today that are based on the brand’s mixed fruit in particular; although of course the ingredient is now substituted. I wouldn’t call them Kiwi classics (yet) but it’s an instance of how a much-loved brand enters the common vernacular and lodges long after the product is but a pleasant memory of hours spent in warm kitchens making sweet treats for special events – or just for pleasure.

This ginger box features a competition in the late 1970s-early 1980s.

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Iced VoVos: Who Did It First?

This is why you love me: I’m a truth-teller. And the truth is that Aulsebrook’s, a Kiwi biscuit company established in the 1860s,  were making Iced VoVos before Arnotts registered the name, an interesting discovery I made this week whilst cruising the newspaper archives.
The Iced VoVo is a biscuit covered with pink fondant and has a strip of strawberry jam running down the centre; the whole lot sprinkled with coconut. At this point it has been well and truly claimed as an “Aussie icon” much like the Gingernut has been in New Zealand. It’s status as such has never been challenged – until now.
You can find the Wiki entry with a link in references to the official page at the Arnotts site here.

 The classic Arnotts Iced VoVo today. Photo courtesy of  Verity Grace, The Accomplished Woman blog.

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So, here’s the proof from The Star newspaper, 21 November 1905. Although Arnotts trademarked the name in 1906 – so say the company themselves –Aulsebrook’s were making them some time before that and continued to sell them through 1908 at least, I suppose until they perhaps had to concede to the legalities of the matter.

 Aulsebrook’s biscuits advert including the Iced VoVo – Star, 21 November 1905, Page 4.

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Brian Meagher, a descendant of the Hardmans who had one of the two largest biscuit concerns in Australia prior to 1946, is stamping his claim:

“The Vo-Voes (sic) were first produced by Hardman Biscuits in Sydney, not by Arnotts. Originally the Hardman Biscuits company was started by the Hardman brothers who had immigrated (sic) from England in the 1850s building themselves into a leading biscuit manufacturing company in Sydney. In 1946 after their large factory in Newtown was burned down, it is told by our family that Arnotts bought them out and so the biscuit became a receipt of theirs. There are many of the Hardman descendants (who) remember this story. I being one of them”.

It’s true the factory was in Newtown and burned down the year Meagher quotes; but before we even talk “who was first?”– I have a question about how Arnotts could have staked their claim forty years earlier if they didn’t purchase the rights to the VoVo until the mid to late 1940s. Given that, I can’t even begin to consider this statement a contested site. How people remember things, or how stories are passed down, and what the facts are – are different things completely.

A variety of Aulsebrook’s, Bycroft, and Hudson biscuits, Hawera & Normanby Star, 18 September, 1906.

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Yes, so – unless someone can actually provide a date that’s earlier than the Aulsebrook’s creation – the Kiwis win AGAIN. First the Pav, then apparently the first chocolate factory (according to Hudson history, truth be told I’m actually not sure I believe this claim until I look into it some more- but anyway, I will go with it for the time being)… and now this. Being hit multiple times in the pop-cultural/historical stakes has got to result in a K.O eventually.

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Addendum late July 2013: Another Hardman descendant has weighed in here  on the issue. Ross Hamilton Hill had this to say on the matter: “Iced Vo Vos (sic) were made by Hardman biscuits long before Arnotts took them over. Hardmans biscuits was first taken over from the Hardman brothers by a tri-partnership which included my grandfather, Henry Gough. Hardman’s biscuits was owned by this tri- partnership until the 1950′s when Arnotts took them over. It might interest you to know that the Arnott and Gough families were neighbours in Strathfield, Sydney.”

Trove actually shows that my date for the launch of this product has been usurped by Arnott’s who were selling a “Vovo” (no mention of being iced) by mid-June 1904. By 5th Sept 1905 it was being advertised as an “Iced Vovo”, as we know it today. This, for all official documented intents and purposes – scrapes in a mere three weeks ahead of Aulsebrook’s and scoops the title. It should be noted here that Aulsebrook’s had made a move across the ditch and set up in Sydney around 1890 where they successfully established themselves – one of very few brands to achieve that feat. So this begs the question – did Aulsebrook’s bring the Vovo with them, a lot earlier than 1904?  Still no mention of Hardman’s, anyway. For everyone’s claims in Australia that they were definitely first – I’m yet to see any evidence whatsoever! If you have an advert or some packaging that shows different, then bring it on.

Arnott’s Vovo biscuit, no mention of icing, The Mercury, Tuesday 14 June, 1904, page 3. Courtesy of the National Library of Australia, via Trove digitised newspaper archive.

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Arnott’s Iced Vovo biscuit, The Mercury, Tuesday 5 September, 1905, page 3. Courtesy of the National Library of Australia, via Trove digitised newspaper archive.

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Addendum late Oct 2015: A couple of vintage Arnott’s adverts showing the Iced VoVo have appeared online recently over the ditch; both issued in the Australian Woman’s Weekly in 1960. It doesn’t have any revelatory bearing on the thrust of my story, obviously, but I just thought I ought to save them before they disappeared for good. 

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All content of Longwhitekid copyright Darian Zam © 2013. All rights reserved.

Edmonds: Taking The Cake

I suppose that eventually I had to get around to doing a post on Edmonds. I mean, it’s so obvious a brand that I almost don’t know where to start -when I look at my collection of images I literally have over 150 advertisements, tins, boxes, and cookbook pages to choose from to illustrate an article. No doubt I’ll do at least another three posts over time on Edmonds in different categories given the volume of material I have.
Even though I’ve always been in love with the Edmond’s baking powder package design (which has changed very little from inception, that’s a big part of its charm) I’ve been putting it off .

A chemist, Ron, who worked at the Edmonds factory remembers these “Slip over” labels being glued on thousands of cans which were left overnight on long tables to dry. He kept one and donated it to Kete Christchurch. Later they were made redundant as the design was printed straight on the metal (previous picture, can probably dates from late 1960s- mid 1970s, and is from my personal collection).

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This is because it  always seems almost pointless given that when people think of Kiwiana -the images that come to mind are the ubiquitous Buzzy Bees, Pavlova, Jandals, Ches and Dale, Kiwifruits, gum boots,  fish and chips,  and more often than not Edmonds baking powder is chucked in –  so well-known is it as one of  New Zealand’s most popular and enduring Brands.  In fact at one time Edmonds were so aware of this that they were even using the slogan “part of New Zealand’s heritage” on the packaging.

“Kiwiana” stamp set issued by New Zealand Post in 2008.

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It’s even been featured as a stamp design more or less intended to be recognised by the font alone – just by the letter E. But I guess my modus operandi has from the outset been to cover the obvious as well as the obscure. So here we go.

Back is inscribed”Thomas Edward Edmonds selling baking powder door to door”. I am assuming this is a simple error with the middle name. Kete Christchurch. Probably the early 1880s.

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Thomas John Edmonds (1858-1932), was born in Poplar, a suburb of London, and had the  previous background of having worked for Allen’s,  the well-known confectionery company which like Edmonds  has stood the test of time and is still going today.
He arrived in Lyttleton, Canterbury on the sailing ship Waitangi as a twenty year old  in 1879 having just married his wife Jane . He didn’t waste any time and immediately  established a grocery business in Woolston, Christchurch  (the site is now the south-west comer of what is now Edmond and Randolph Streets ) where he began by manufacturing sherbet.

Edmonds advertisement, Evening Post  8 March 1937.

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It wasn’t long before he was carefully listening to the complaints about other products on the market such as the unreliability of the available baking powder brands (it was first invented by chemist Alfred Bird of Bird’s Custard fame in 1843 from a mix of sodium bicarbonate, cream of tartar and cornstarch for his yeast-allergic wife).

Edmonds advertisement, Colonist, 9 November 1910.

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Looking around for ideas to boost business, and thinking he could most likely do better, he started experimenting out the back of his shop to create a superior product to others that were on the market – amongst them Borwick’s, Hudson’s , Hudson’s Balloon Brand, as well as Sharland and Co’s Moa and self-named brands ( Surely it couldn’t have been any worse than what was on offer from Sharland here in my favourite story by Lisa Truttman at Timespanner – ” A jam roll death in Freeman’s Bay”  http://tinyurl.com/6pta9xt ).

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A rare bulk Edmonds baking powder tin. I’ve never seen another.

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Edmonds advert circa 1907, Printed Ephemera Collection, Alexander Turnbull Library (Ref: Eph-A-VARIETY-1907-01-centre]

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It wasn’t long before he presented his own product with the first 200 tins going on sale before the year was out. The story goes that upon being questioned whether his powder would be as good for the job he confidently (and probably a little tartly, the way I imagine it) replied “Madam, it is SURE to rise”, and thus gave birth to an instantly recognisable slogan and subsequent “sunray” trademark which has been in use now for more than 130 years.

Tea Ohou Journal, Spring 1953, National Library NZ.

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He was a man of astuteness when it came to marketing techniques; and full of innovative ideas. Initially he tackled the low demand for his product by going door-to-door with sample-size tins to spruik his product and offering to take back any that were not met with satisfaction.
Next he offered a free cookbook to any housewife that wrote in asking for a copy. The famous Edmonds  cookery book was first issued in 1907. It started life as the “Sure To Rise Cookery Book” , with only fifty pages of recipes. Only two known copies of the first edition survive making it a very rare item.

Egg powder made an apparently brief appearance in the scheme of things, in comparison to other Edmonds products – lasting only between the 1880s and 1910s. Courtesy of the NZ Electronic Text Centre.

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As of 2008, with a 60th  edition issued, it has been in print for over 100 years.  At one time it was “sent unsolicited to every newly engaged couple in New Zealand” whose commitment appeared in print. A little presumptuous and risky –  but ultimately good publicity I guess,  as it has now sold well over three million copies and is the country’s bestselling book  of all time. Full of no-fail recipes for everything  from chocolate fudge to bacon and egg pie, It’s now apparently considered a sort of Kiwi rite of passage  to receive a copy from your mother when you first leave home.

The Guthrie-designed building of 1922 which has become an iconic image.

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Small printed metal Acto tin, probably mid 1960s.

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Eventually with his clever strategies to publicise the product, demand grew to the point that by 1912 he was moving one million cans a year, and by 1928 – two and a half million.
During the depression years he was the first to introduce a forty hour,  five day week to his workers, changing the face of employment in New Zealand irrevocably. He even helped his workers with their mortgages.

Tinted powder seems to have been a somewhat superfluous Edmonds product in the late 1940s-early 1950s, hence didn’t have a robust lifespan.

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In the early 1890s he was becoming fairly established and built a large wooden shed for manufacturing in Ferry Road, not that far away from the original grocery shop. In 1922 Edmonds  replaced this building with his landmark Guthrie brothers-designed  “Sure to Rise” factory and expressed his great interest in botany with its elaborate circular gardens; hothouses on the grounds were filled with imported tropical plants were open to the public and employees alike for their enjoyment. Always at the forefront of cutting edge ideas, Edmonds prescribed to the early 20th century European “Garden City Movement” of which the main concept was that “factory owners should provide recreation facilities for their workers, and beautify the surroundings of their factories”

Large printed metal tin which probably dates from the mid-late 1960s, from my personal collection. This design was also on a cardboard box, and was still in use when I was a child in the early 1970s.

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The iconic building is the one that has been featured on the covers of the cookbooks ever since. In what is considered quite a controversial and rather stupid move, it was demolished in 1990 and the gardens destroyed . So much for “part of New Zealand’s heritage”. The land to the west was bought by the Christchurch City Council the following year and Bluebird Foods Ltd donated the money required for a recreation of the gardens in 1992 – again an attraction.

The former 1929 Band Rotunda is now a restaurant honouring Edmonds’ name.

The couple were great philanthropists and the Edmonds family substantially funded or donated many landmarks in Christchurch city including parks, the Theosophical Society building in Cambridge Terrace, the Radiant Hall (now the Repertory Theatre) in Kilmore Street, and for the fifty year anniversary of their arrival they donated the Band Rotunda (now the Thomas Edmonds Restaurant) in Cambridge Terrace, the clock tower and telephone cabinet in Oxford Terrace – amongst others.

A cake baking powder tin that probably dates from the late 1950s-early 1960s. (I’m not sure what differentiates this product from Acto or the regular Edmond’s product).

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Edmonds maize cornflour ad, Tea Ohou Journal, Spring 1954, National Library NZ.

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Fielder’s  cornflour box from my personal collection, late 1980s-early 1990s

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Apart from the perpetual baking powder product range (Edmonds , Sure To Rise, Acto , Cake Baking Powder, and briefly coloured Cake Baking Powder in the late 1940s), Edmonds have also produced custard powder (“Sure To Please”) since at least 1907 in several varieties from raspberry to banana cream, as well as being famous for their jelly in many flavours. Fielder’s Cornflour, Edmonds maize cornflour and wheat cornflour have been a range staple for many decades. The 1960s and 1970s saw instant drinks and desserts like Tang and Jiffy Jel added to the brands’ products, along with the Prima pasta range, Coat’n’Cook for baking and frying, cake and pastry mixes, and instant meals like boxed risotto.

Edmond’s Jelly box, early 1970s.  Photo courtesy of  courtesy of Mike Davidson (Kiwigame on Flickr) . Below baking powder tin dates from the early 1950s, Object number CT78.283, photo from the collection of Owaka Museum Wahi Kahuika The Meeting Place “a rest on your journey”.

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Today the brand is a division of  Goodman Fielder Ltd and the company currently produces nearly 60 products from dressings to bread baking mix.

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Thomas John Edmonds is now considered one of New Zealand’s top 100 most influential people of all time, all because of a couple of dud cakes.

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Addendum early January 2013:

Unfortunately the Thomas Edmonds Rotunda was badly damaged in the Christchurch quakes and is set to be demolished, if it hasn’t already been done. The ruins are at the least fenced off but it doesn’t look like there is any hope of saving it at all. The above photo shows the wreckage of this lovely example of public architecture – almost  like it has been sheared off with a gigantic knife. Image courtesy of and © all rights reserved by shelby-dog on Flickr.

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A 1st edition, 2nd printing published by Mith & Anthony in 1909 turned up for sale on Trade Me in December. Bidding was extremely fierce for this very rare item and it went for around the $750.00 mark. The following week a 2nd edition, 2nd printing went for around $450.00. In five years these are the only ones I have seen for sale publicly.

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All content of Longwhitekid copyright Darian Zam © 2012. All rights reserved.

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