Last word

The Victorian approach to waste products could teach us a thing or two about sustainability

by Emily Cockayne @Rummage_work

Eurythenes plasticus might sound like a mid.80s pop duo, but in fact it is a recently discovered tiny sea creature, named for the plastic microfi bres found in its digestive tract. The problematic interaction of plastic and nature has a long and surprising history. Bakelite, the fi rst fully synthetic plastic, was invented in 1907. Before then, there had been many different non-synthetic plastics, made using recycled materials. A surge of plastic ingenuity followed the Great Exhibition of 1851; indeed, many Victorian men connected with the RSA helped to develop and promote these new substances, all made in imitation of natural materials such as tortoiseshell, ivory, horn, oak and ebony.

The production of these new plastics involved recycling waste products; bois durci was made from sawdust and slaughterhouse blood. In Birmingham in the 1850s, Alexander Parkes invented Parkesine, the first proper plastic. It used cotton waste dissolved in acids and solvents, with oils added to improve malleability. Later products were similar — xylonite was a tweaked version of Parkes’s recipe, and ivoride was made using formaldehyde and sour milk.

Dyes also utilised waste products, such as coal tar left behind during gasification, and dye-makers and plastic producers worked together. Parkesine won aprize medal at the International Exhibition of 1862 (the same exhibition showcased William Henry Perkin’s new dye, ‘mauveine’). New plastics were made ready-dyed, to look like the materials they replaced. The trademark device adopted by the British Xylonite Company — a tortoise and an elephant walking out together — refl ected this marvellous mimicry of natural, sometimes dwindling, raw materials.

Hordes of low-paid women worked in the initial production stages of each material, processing the recycled matter. Because plastics could be moulded they permitted novel mass production of some items, including artificial teeth, combs, buttons and chessmen. Imitation wood handles for umbrellas combined ground sawdust with glue (itself made using animal by-products); xylonite collars became best-sellers. Rubbish was turned into shiny new, wipeclean items. A veritable horticultural show of plastics was on display at exhibitions, using root vegetables subjected to sulphuric soakings; for example, you could see artificial horn made from turnips and “an excellent coral” from carrots. Billiard balls made from peeled potatoes were exhibited at the Paris International Exhibition in 1867, alongside a piano made from papier-mâché.

In the early 20th century, synthetic plastics replaced the earlier concoctions that had incorporated waste products. New plastics created growing demand for raw materials, impatience with old things and leftovers, and problems of disposability and durability we now recognise as part of an ecological crisis. There is now a slight but perceptible movement back to non-synthetic hard products. Students from the Royal College of Art and Imperial College London have developed a biodegradable plastic using lobster shells, and many Victorian recipes could be brought back or adapted. Inevitably, a move to make more sustainable plastics using animal by-products will not be welcomed with universally open arms. Maybe we could tap our own ingenuity to overcome this. Alternatives are already in production: cutlery made from avocado or olive stones, and polystyrene substitutes made from mushrooms.

Emily Cockayne is a senior lecturer in early modern history at the University of East Anglia. Her book, Rummage: A History of the Things We Have Reused, Recycled and Refused to Let Go, is out now