In 1895 a postman called Charles Owen Martin was driven to desperate means to try to obtain a beard: he stole a postal order, and spent it on a patent lotion guaranteed to produce “a pair of captivating, fascinating whiskers”.

His case was uncovered by Alun Withey, a medical historian at Exeter University, whose research on the Victorian craze for beards, and the lengths some men were prepared to go to achieve the badge of masculinity, opens this weekend at the Florence Nightingale Museum in London.

Withey says the craze was sparked by images of heroic British soldiers in the Crimean war. The connection has led to the exhibition in the museum created in honour of Nightingale, who became world famous as The Lady with the Lamp during the Crimean campaign.

Henry Wellcome in costume as warrior in 1885. Photograph: Wellcome Library, London

“The war coincided with a bit of a crisis of identity for many men, with the promotion of the home as the realm of the woman,” Withey says. “And this was a way they could emulate their heroes and assert their rugged masculinity.”

Beards were standard wear in the British army into the 20th century, Withey says, and even then moustaches were so firmly required that some regiments kept a stock of fake ones made from goats’ hair for the unfortunates unable to oblige.

In civilian life men were desperate for the full fuzz, beards, moustaches and whiskers. Wigs were available with attached whiskers for an extra £1, and a wide range of artificial beards included one with a patent steel spring mechanism to attach it – of particular interest to Withey, who wandered into the history of beards through his interest in new types of 18th-century steel, including improved razor blades.

While a bouquet of scented waxes and oils catered to those who had beards, a terrifying range of patent medicines and lotions promised to cure the beardless. The postman – whose ultimate fate Withey has been unable to trace – was one of many disappointed customers. The press reports of his arrest noted: “His cheeks and chin are as smooth as a billiard ball. Not the faintest indication of a solitary hair has made its appearance on one or other of them and, as a consequence, his heart was sad.”

Withey admits that he is a poor advocate for the power of the beard: he is clean shaven and bald.

“I did have a beard last year but it didn’t have the desired effect at all, it just made me look a bit old and grizzled,” he said. “People do keep asking why I haven’t got one – but I have a friend who is an expert on the history of false legs, and nobody expects him to have a leg cut off.”