Down the Rabbit Hole: Frederick Gorst and the ‘Gladstone Vase’

By Ellen O'Brien - “PhD student, book lover and tea addict, I spend my days researching and writing, with help from my bunny George. History is not quite so visible in Australia as in England… but it's there if you know where to look!”

Studying history can be a lot like late-night-procrasti-searching through the labyrinthine corridors of Wikipedia… you start with something fairly innocuous– a country house servant and a silver vase, for example– but one clue leads to another, and before you know it, you’re so far down the rabbit hole, you need a small crane and a search and rescue team to bring you back up.

 

http://unculturedmag.tumblr.com/post/13325016729/alice-in-wonderland-down-the-rabbit-hole

This has been my experience with a recent fragment of country house history– a relatively small part of the interminable PhD effort– one that keeps drawing me back, and each time, revealing something new. This fragment was initially the subject of a small conference paper on the relationship between servants and objects in the Victorian country house, and, unable to let me go, has morphed into a full-length article on objects as sites of memory, and the vagaries of servant memoirs.

Let me show you the fragment, as it first appeared to me.

What Gorst might have looked like, polishing the silver and how Gorst might have looked, in his footman’s livery).

In his memoir, Of Carriages and Kings, Victorian servant Frederick Gorst recounts a little of his time at Court Hey, the country house of Richard and Walter Gladstone, nephews of the four-times prime minister, William Gladstone. Gorst was especially reflective, for a footman, often impressed by a sense of ‘handling history,’ and, in the course of his duties, of being ‘allowed to glimpse, to touch for a moment, the lustrous past.’[1]

Surviving photograph of Court Hey, which was demolished in 1956.

One day, while cleaning the unused family silver that sat tarnishing in the vault, one item caught his eye. It was ‘an exquisite silver and gold vase about three feet tall… a copy of the famous Warwick vase,’ and had been ‘a legacy of Mr. Robertson Gladstone to his sons.’[2] (Gorst’s employers).

What the Gladstone Vase might have looked like. (This is actually a set of wine coolers in the same design, that was owned by the family).

Mr. Robertson, as the story goes, had been given the vase as a thank you present from the merchants of Liverpool, in ‘recognition of his munificent and timely gift’ of money to the starving workers and mill hands in the city. Why were they starving? The year was 1833, and slavery had just been abolished. There was now no sugar coming into the once-busy port, and ‘thousands of workers were idle and starving.’[3] However, the apparent generosity of Robertson Gladstone is clouded by one rather uncomfortable fact: his fortune came from the Gladstone family sugar plantations in Demerara… and the slaves who were forced to work there.  

1835 Abolitionist poster

The Gladstone family’s opposition to slavery was a source of some consternation to Gorst, who offers a strangely misleading account of their involvement in the matter. This deception has been the focus of my enquiry, but first, I investigated the vase, and its many historical connections and reincarnations.

It is an interesting case of an object possessing manifold cultural associations: the vase was not just a symbol of Britain’s participation in slavery, but is an exact replica of the Warwick Vase, which is linked to key figures of the late eighteenth century, and Britain’s diplomatic and classical past.

Dated to the 2^nd century AD, the original Warwick vase was discovered by a Scottish painter, Gavin Hamilton, in the ruins of Hadrian’s Villa at Tivoli, and sold to Sir William Hamilton, a British diplomat. Sir William was an obsessive classicist who amassed large collections of vases, and, in the tradition of the ‘Grand Tour’, smuggled many back to England, despite an embargo on exporting antiquities (cough, Elgin marbles, cough).

Engraving of the ‘famous Warwick Vase.’

It is faintly ironic that the most famous of Hamilton’s vases bears the name of another collector. Having attempted, and failed, to sell it, Hamilton passed the job onto his nephew, Charles Greville, who was the younger son of the old Earl of Warwick (Hamilton’s brother-in-law). Greville made valiant, repeated attempts to carry off the deal, but he was not successful, and in the end, he sold it to his older brother, the Earl of Warwick, after whom it has been called ever since.

The Grevillea: named after Charles Greville.

Charles Greville is an interesting character (not least because the native Australian ‘grevillea’ plant was named after him- trust me, it’s exciting if you like gardening…). However, his rather more spectacular claim to fame comes through his mistress, a young woman called Emma Hart. Greville, who needed to find and marry a wealthy heiress, palmed Emma off on Hamilton, who took her to Naples as his mistress, and eventually married her there, after a five-year relationship. It was during their time in Naples that Lady Emma Hamilton (sound familiar yet?) met Lord Nelson, and the rest, as they say, was history.

Emma and Nelson: Britain’s favourite Napoleonic romance.

‘Take Lord Nelson with one limb,

Lady William Hamilton she fell for him,

With one eye and one arm gone west,

She ran like the devil and she grabbed the rest.

If women like that like men like those,

Why don’t women like me?’

(George Formby) 

.

And so, we circle back to Frederick Gorst, and his silver vase. It is possible to see how a single piece of silver, locked away in a cupboard, polished by a pensive footman at the end of the Victorian era, can take us right back through some of the more significant events of the preceding century. We have an object that is invested with historical meaning, that is linked to one of Queen Victoria’s prime-ministers, the Gladstone family’s role in the abolition (and support) of slavery, to England’s presence in the Mediterranean at the end of the eighteenth century, to their infamous habit of acquiring antiquities, and Britain’s favourite, Napoleonic romance.

At a quick scroll through, the flow of images in this post seem entirely disconnected– but they are not. They highlight the fact that, whenever you read about history, you will find moments of interconnectedness, association, and those wonderful flashes of ‘Well I never…’ Of course, if you’re feeling worn out and fed up with serious research, you can always do the same thing on Wikipedia for an hour or three… I highly recommend it.

---

[1] Gorst, 73

[2] Gorst, 71

[3] Gorst, 72

Visiting the English Country House: Ancient Halls and Gilded Monuments.

By Ellen O'Brien - “PhD student, book lover and tea addict, I spend my days researching and writing, with help from my bunny George. History is not quite so visible in Australia as in England… but it's there if you know where to look!”

Thou art not, Penshurst, built to envious show,

Of touch or marble; nor canst boast a row

Of polished pillars, or a roof of gold;

Thou hast no lantern, whereof tales are told,

Or stair, or courts; but stand’st an ancient pile,

And, these grudged at, art reverenced the while. (1-6)

Then hath thy orchard fruit, thy garden flowers,

Fresh as the air, and new as are the hours.

The early cherry, with the later plum,

Fig, grape, and quince, each in his time doth come;

The blushing apricot and woolly peach

Hang on thy walls, that every child may reach.

And though thy walls be of the country stone,

They’re reared with no man’s ruin, no man’s groan… (39-47)

(Lines from Ben Jonson’s ‘To Penshurst’ 1616)

Earlier in 2016, as autumn started to settle in, I was lucky enough to visit FOUR country houses in a WEEK. Two in particular struck me, not because of their grandness or beauty, but because of their difference to one another.

The first was Penshurst Place, just outside Tunbridge Wells in Sussex, immortalised in Ben Jonson’s country house poem, To Penshurst. The second was Blenheim Palace in Oxfordshire, home to the Dukes of Marlborough.

It can be easy to lump all “English Country Houses” in together, with their ubiquitous elderly room wardens, cafeteria-style National Trust tea rooms, their inevitable printed tea towels and competitive boasts of famous visitors or occupants. The same thing happens when you go on any holiday, and experience a glut of the national monument… Buddhist temples, European cathedrals, and Scottish castles: they can blur into one and get a bit “same-y.”

However, Penshurst and Blenheim were so vastly different: they were born of different historical circumstances, and projected such different personalities, that you would hardly mention them in the same breath.  The key difference was the sense of professional commercialism that ruled Blenheim, and the slightly amateurish, casual welcome offered by Penshurst.

Penshurst, (without reverting to poetic analysis) is an older house that supposedly grew naturally from the English soil, and its glory is derived from its organic, ancient presence, an inseparable part of the landscape. However, by the time Jonson was writing his tribute to the recently landed and titled Sidney family in 1616, the house has already undergone the renovations that made it distinctly larger than ‘an ancient pile.’

(The Great Hall)

An Elizabethan and Jacobean mansion, it is surrounded by a maze of 10 foot walls, heavily espaliered and laden with fruit. In his poem, Jonson claims that any child could wander in and pluck a woolly peach off the branch, but the forbidding walls suggest otherwise.

(The Walled Garden)

Nevertheless, the house seems more a part of the landscape and the village than something like Blenheim ever could. The arched tourist entrance, made of old red bricks, opens directly into the village of Penshurst, which is built right up against the walls of the estate, perhaps a throwback to the protection once offered by the manor house, and the local cricket green can be seen from the grounds.

(The Visitors Entrance)

We wandered through the formal, square gardens, full of secret avenues and hidden bathing ponds, marvelling at the fruit that was thick on the ground and overly ripe in the branches. The carefully laid out flower beds, now withering, contained only a faded hint of their former colour. Summer was over-blown, turning to brown, the way it had in the garden for over five hundred years. Our picnic, invaded by the occasional bumblebee, and complete with union jack paper cups, felt appropriately rustic.

(A Country Picnic)

The house, recently used as a filming location for Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall, was sparsely decorated and photography was forbidden. Inside, it retained an Elizabethan flavour: all was dark wood and flagstone, crumbling red brick and embroidered furnishings.

(Wolf Hall, from the books by Hilary Mantel)

Penshurst, proud of its age, wears it like a badge, and appears to have held out against the highly commercial, professional business of the country house industry. The final room contained photographs of the family and servants, taken by family members and pasted into books, or plastic sheet protectors. There was something very touching about these carefully collated but amateurish family albums.

(Hidden Waters)

The only commercially produced information board was tucked away in the garden, and explained the various stages of the garden’s planting and landscaping, emphasising that this was a place which grew over time, and had witnessed six hundred years of English history. 

(Heraldic Garden)

In terms of visitor experience, the prices were very reasonable, made more so by my student card and Nell’s train ticket discount. As with many country houses, access is only by car. We were almost alone in the house and grounds, despite it being Sunday, and the few people we did encounter were local families who had brought their children to picnic and play in the garden.  

… Blenheim Palace…

As we pulled into the grey expanse of car park at Blenheim, the drizzle was beginning to set in, along with a touch of the ol’ ‘castle fatigue’, and I was perhaps, unfairly, steeling myself to be unimpressed. Gone was the grassy, county-fair style parking of Penshurst: this place was set up to accommodate the maximum number of tourists, and charged accordingly. We were a little taken aback by the extortionate entry fee, and thought it a bit rich that any additional service (like the electric cart for elderly visitors) cost extra.

(The courtyard at Blenheim)

Built to celebrate the military successes of the first Duke of Marlborough, under James II, William and Mary, and finally Queen Anne, Blenheim more resembles a French chateau or Italian palace, than an English country home. Its purpose is clear: to impress.

Fighting against a tide of French college students, we were swept through the rooms on a rather crowded, ‘official’ tour of the house and its most famous occupants. I say ‘official,’ because great care had been taken to project a blemish-free, whitewashed version of events. The first Duchess, Sarah, was up for slating, but Winston Churchill and his immediate family were sacrosanct.

The floor length information boards, commercially produced (yet littered with spelling mistakes) told the story of Winston, the most celebrated son of the estate, but very little else. What a missed opportunity to locate the house in England’s long and dramatic history!

Mary S Lovell wrote a deeply researched and candid biography of the Churchill family (The Churchills: In Love and War), and having recently read this, it struck me that the ‘Blenheim version’ of events sacrificed human drama in favour of respectable posterity. There was no mention of Winston’s father’s philandering, and likely death of syphilis, or his mother’s irrepressible character and remarriage to a much younger man, his brother’s forced marriage and marked preference for ballet dancers and actresses.

Consuelo Vanderbilt, the American heiress he married, was a beautiful and tragic figure. It was rumoured she sobbed through her wedding veil, and many years later, she managed to obtain a divorce. But, apart from the Singer Sargent family portrait, she is largely absent. It was she who noticed that their elaborate dinner left-overs were scooped into buckets and sent out to the poorer tenants. By the time they arrived, they were little more than slops. She organised tin containers, like lunch boxes, to separate and preserve the food for the estate workers.  

(Consuelo’s family portrait)

Where the garden at Penshurst retained some medieval aspects, and had an English ‘country garden’ atmosphere, Blenheim was utterly devoid of sweet peas or marigolds. Acres of Capability Brown landscaping had carved out long, sweeping views, but walking the length of them was impossible.

(The formal gardens at Blenheim)

Despite the extensive grounds, there was a strong sense of enclosure, of ownership, of exclusivity. The flocks of pheasants so clearly belonged to someone, although there were no fences. There was no pretence of communal gardens and farming, like at Penshurst. Blenheim proudly proclaims its dominion, surveyed by the column of victory.

(Column of Victory)

Museu d’Història de Catalunya, Barcelona.

Weekends away can be great way to dip into the history of different areas, whether that be somewhere on the south coast of England or Southern Europe. In this case a trip to Barcelona allowed for an interesting trip to the Museu d’Història de Catalunya and I have to admit to being really impressed with the quality of the museum.

Museu d’Història de Catalunya, Barcelona.

The museum itself is located in a former warehouse building near the Old Port (Port Vell) and offers a really fantastic museum space. The development actually strongly resembles the location of the Museum of London Docklands – a part of a former warehouse having been converted into a museum, while the rest offers a home to bustling restaurants and bars, overlooking ships swaying on the water. Anyway, I digress somewhat.  

Museu d’Història de Catalunya, Barcelona.

We chose to view the permanent exhibition galleries which cover the period of Prehistory to 1980. This is divided into several different subsections which aim to address key developments in Catalan history. These are: The Roots: From Prehistory to the 8^th Century, The Birth of a Nation: The 8^th to the 12^th Centuries, Our Sea: The 12^th to the 16^th Centuries, On the Edge of the Empire: the 16^th to 18^th centuries, A Steam-powered Nation: the 18^th and 19^th centuries, The Electric Years: From 1900 to 1939, Defeat and Recovery: From 1940 to 1980.

Museu d’Història de Catalunya, Barcelona.

It was certainly a mammoth exhibition in what it tried to cover but like I say, I was very impressed with the quality of what has been achieved. Intellectually what I really liked was how the museum didn’t just focus on Catalonia but tried to present Catalan history and culture within broader geographical, political, economic and cultural settings. This was something I remarked on at the time for it is not something I can say I’ve particularly noticed in other exhibitions I’ve been too. It made quite a refreshing change and I left feeling that I not only had a greater sense of Catalan history but also how it fits alongside the other existing knowledge I have of history. I was able to draw things together and make comparisons in ways that I have not necessarily recognised being able to do before. 

Museu d’Història de Catalunya, Barcelona.

You can also really tell that it is a new development by the approach that’s been taken, and the development of the museum over the last 10 years has been documented through video which is shown to visitors at the end of the exhibition. It displays a very modern approach to gallery design. There is a mix of glass faced cabinets containing artefacts with information panels, but also more interactive elements – models and recreations. A number of these in fact, still stand out. In particular a net which has been filled with armour and placed on a pulley system, which visitors can then attempt to lift in an effort to demonstrate how heavy it would have been to wear armour. There was also a knight’s horse that could be sat on, milling stones for grinding wheat and my personal favourite, a reconstruction of an irrigation system. Children are encouraged to take the place of oxen and turn a wheel, which then lifted water from a well into channels which in turn irrigated farm crops. It was such an inspired way to both educate and occupy children, while allowing adults the time to read the information, which in other museums can sometimes be a bit of a battle. 

Museu d’Història de Catalunya, Barcelona.

The museum’s mission statement is published on their website and is as follows:

The Museu d’Història de Catalunya (MHC) opened in 1996 to make Catalan history and culture better known at home and abroad. Publicly owned and inspired by the public interest, it is designed to be a museum of society insofar as it encourages interaction between history and the other social sciences and takes an interest in our own times. A cultural centre that is open and accessible to everyone with a programme that offers visitors opportunities for learning and training, for debate and analysis, for relaxation and enjoyment. (1)

It aims to be a space for ‘encounter and exchange’ and I definitely think that’s the case. The models show the practicalities of life at different periods in time, prompting questions that you pose not only to yourself but also to the other people you might be visiting with. And while it offers a huge historical range that some might find that overwhelming, I found it to be really intellectually stimulating. It offered something different, both in scope and design, and I’d definitely recommend it to those that visit Barcelona.

Museu d’Història de Catalunya, Barcelona.

(1) http://www.en.mhcat.cat/content/view/full/44

The Rothschild Room...

and some thoughts on Natural History Museum's.

Hands up, this blog is going to be a little self-indulgent but I wanted to share it with you because I think it’s a fantastic example of what natural history museums should be doing, and that’s explaining their history, the history of their collections and the history of those involved in acquiring those collections.

The Rothschild Room at the Natural History Museum at Tring was re-opened last year after a period of closure allowing for refurbishment and I have to admit to being a huge fan. What I love about the room is how it has taken the history of the museum and its founder, Walter Rothschild, and explained to the public that history, and the context in which its natural history collections were assembled throughout the 19^th and 20^th centuries. 

Panorama of the Rothschild Room at Tring Museum © Elle Larsson

By showcasing key stories, specimens and individuals in a highly accessible way, you leave the museum feeling like you’ve learnt a lot more than you might have just by looking at specimens; because as a passive observer and at a very basic level, that is all you are really doing when you visit a natural history museum. They are odd testimonials to a bygone era whose original public purpose has largely been usurped by television documentaries, zoological parks and the internet.

Interactive Map showing Rothschild Collectors
 © Elle Larsson

The Rothschild room contains a display that tells you about the key people – Rothschild, his curators and family, as well as important collectors, who you can find out more information about on an interactive map. There are photo displays that show family photos and those of the animals Rothschild used to keep, as well as touchscreens which allow you to look at some of the books produced by those at Tring and that have since been digitised. It also includes taxidermy specimens to explain some of Rothschild’s favourite species, artefacts on loan from other collections and in the middle of the room there is a replica giant tortoise, similar to the one Rothschild is famously photographed sitting on. It’s been completed to a really high standard and implements many of the more successful modern exhibition techniques. It was really refreshing to see the first time and remains so, hence me choosing to blog about it.

Rothschild Room incorporates specimens and history
© Elle Larsson

I think what really stood out for me though is that this isn’t an approach that many museums have adopted, particularly the larger natural history museums. I understand that their purpose is to showcase biodiversity and that the important scientific work that natural history museums continue to do is going on behind the scenes, and, showcasing that, as the Natural History Museum at South Kensington have done in building the cocoon which allows the public to see into the scientific laboratories is a good thing and only adds to visitor experience and understanding. They are hugely important and the work being done by them is hugely significant. I just think there is scope in the public galleries to offer a stronger narrative, one that perhaps merges science with history, drawing on the extensive historic collections these museums possess and doesn’t just present a display case of zebras for someone to look at. As it stands we might learn the Latin name for the species or be able to view them in their taxonomic groups but what about the process of how and why they ended up there in the first place? It might be an uncomfortable truth to confront but I think it is an important one, especially in light of current concerns over conservation.

Digitised family photo albums © Elle Larsson

I readily admit to having a personal interest in this and the more I conduct my PhD research the more I realise the people who are working on natural history collections also have interest in where these specimens originally came from and how they ended up being in a museum collection – so why is this not translating into display? There are spectacular stories to be told and yet they’re not and I think that’s a real shame. It could dramatically change the way in which people engage with natural history museums and that is worth exploring in my opinion. There are some exceptions where this is beginning to be done to a degree. The Horniman Museum and Gardens for example has an introduction to their natural history gallery where they “set the scene” and answer some of the key questions or draw attention to key debates - the fur and feather trade for example and the history of its founder Frederick John Horniman and how he acquired his collection. So I suppose change is on the horizon. Perhaps I just need to exercise some patience and hope that in time, more museums choose to adopt a similar approach to that undertaken by the Tring Museum in their redesign of the Rothschild Room - it is fantastic and well worth a visit!

One of Rothschild's favourites - take a pic next time you're there!
© Elle Larsson

BSHS Postgraduate Conference – Botanic Garden Visit

Back at the beginning of January I headed off to Cambridge for this year’s BSHS Postgraduate Conference. I had a great three days listening to some fantastic papers, visiting some amazing museums and getting to know other students working in similar fields to me. I for one had not realised how popular the history of botany was and not a million miles away from what I’m doing either! It proved to be very thought provoking in terms of my own research and really gave me the much needed enthusiasm I was lacking after the Christmas break.

My favourite part of the Conference however, or at least the part that sticks out the most for me, was our visit to the Cambridge University Botanic Garden where we listened to a great talk from one of their scientists,  who had laid out a number of examples from the collection to show us. I’ve seen behind the scenes of a number of natural history museums of late, but never a herbarium so that in itself was fascinating!

The specimens we were shown included Darwin’s cucumber (I think that’s what it was)– one of those plants you know is important and love to see and yet aren’t quite sure why. Well, let me tell you - it’s the last remaining specimen of that particular plant that was collected by Darwin on the Voyage of the ‘Beagle’ and given to John Stevens Henslow on his return. Now our guide made a point of connecting the importance of such a specimen to modern science; explaining how modern technology and new scientific approaches might one day allow us to replicate the DNA of that specimen and begin cultivating new plants to re-establish living populations as has been done with other recent examples. Among the other specimens laid out the one that again really sticks out for me was that which was carefully sealed in a plastic bag and described as the most lethal plant on the planet. That of course immediately got everyone’s attention, as it would, but so did the repeated insistence that we shouldn’t touch it.

All jokes aside, I think what made this visit particularly memorable for me was the emphasis put on the important links between historic specimens and modern science and how the two are continuing to inform each other. There is a value in maintaining these sorts of collections beyond what we would perhaps even think to consider and that was put across very well during this visit. I now find myself having a better understanding of the work modern botanists can do and the sorts of things they examine and I found that incredibly interesting information to take away. 

Life Begins as a PhD Student

Welcome back folks. Can you believe I’m a term into my PhD already and I haven’t blogged a single word in all that time! To be honest with you, I’m not entirely sure why I haven’t put finger to key and mustered up something to say about how it’s been. I was so excited to start and had visions of sharing every step of the journey, but as you can see that hasn’t been the case. I’ve really had to hit the ground running, and while I do manage to procrastinate in less useful ways than writing a blog, doing anything other than something towards the PhD at the moment makes me feel incredibly guilty. But as it’s almost Christmas I thought I’d best get back on it.

So I guess you’re wondering how’s it been? Well, let’s just say I absolutely love the whole PhD experience and am so glad to be back in academia – in a funny way it feels like I’ve come home. Don’t get me wrong it’s definitely been an adjustment - meeting everyone, settling into a new university, getting to grips with life at a partner institution, learning a new language, a new historiography – but it is one I wouldn’t trade for the world. It is still early days and I am still finding my feet, but I remain confident that applying for a PhD was the right decision for me.

So perhaps, rather than getting bogged down in huge swathes of text, I’ll just bullet point some of the keys things I’ve learnt/taken away/must remember etc. so far:

1. Go easy on yourself – you will never feel like you’re doing enough. But remember, it’s a marathon not a sprint.
2. Be sure to build in “you” time.
3. You will have productive days, and not so productive days. And that’s ok – just go with it!
4. Go to as many inductions as possible – meet people and socialise. The relationships you build early on will be invaluable. These guys know what it’s like better than anyone else – share your experiences, anxieties and achievements with them. You’re all in the same boat and chances are they’re feeling or have felt the same way as you at some point along the way.
5. Invest time early on in getting to grips with referencing software, it will save so much time in the future. I’d never particularly got on with referencing software before, choosing to do it “manually”, but I am now happy to report I am a fully-fledged convert.
6. Read and read again until you really understand what you’ve read - even if that means having to read something three times! There’s no cutting corners on this one. 
7. Start that all important bibliography now and make notes of key points as you go.
8. Every library has a different cataloguing system – you will get lost, end up walking up and down aisles and draw the attention of experienced residents to the fact that you are a library newbie. Get over it and ask them for help.
9. Think about your end game early on – if you want a certain career once you’ve finished you have to be thinking about that now. Even when faced with information overload – make room! (I say this, but that doesn’t mean I’ve actually managed to deal with that one yet).
10. But I think most of all, continue to remember why you (and I really mean I) wanted to do a PhD in the first place and make sure to enjoy it.

The first term has been somewhat of a rollercoaster, but I’m enjoying it hugely and wouldn’t have it any other way! 

An Inside Look: Just some of the questions I continue to ask myself during the course of my research.

It’s not very often, if at all, I write directly and in detail about the research I do and you might well ask why. Given that it is something I proclaim to both love and find fascinating, and given that I would call myself a public historian, why on earth do I not blog about my work more often? And it’s a question I often ask myself, especially when it comes to thinking of the topic for next week’s blog, and so you’d certainly be right to call me up on it. The thing is I don’t find it particularly easy to offer a clear and concise view on some of the issues that arise when studying this topic, because they can be very complex and multifaceted.

As an academic working within the field of animal studies you are forced to consider, amongst other things, the legal and ethical issues which can surround the particular topic you might be working on and which in turn, can lead you into impassioned debate and even confrontation – and sometimes I just don’t feel in a strong position to either defend or argue for a particular angle. For example, when visiting a zoological collection last year and being angered by the conditions in which the animals were kept, I was shocked to later discover that the zoo were meeting the legal requirements for keeping animals in captivity. It’s all too easily to respond based on your own morality, and that can be a good thing, but the conclusions you reach might not always be the ‘right’ ones and so I’ve learnt to tread a little more carefully before jumping in all guns blazing. However, I thought on this occasion I’d try and take you through a few of the questions and topics I often find myself contending with and deliberating on.

1. Zoos

Should they exist or shouldn’t they? What makes a ‘good’ zoo, if there is even such a thing? Why is the legislation around the keeping of animals in captivity so lax? Why will parliament not approve the ban on the use of wild animals in circuses? Or the keeping of some exotic animals as pets? Why are there still so many comparisons to be made between the 19th century, 20th century and 21st century when so much else has changed? I could go on.

With all these questions, just a sample of what I could think of, where do I even begin? One of the two events that led me to focus my dissertation on Charles Jamrach, involved asking myself the question “why did zoos spring up in the middle of urban areas during the nineteenth century?” and at the time I happened to be stood looking at the giraffe house at London Zoo. I’ve been to zoos and wildlife parks all my life – some good, some bad and some excellent (as far of course as they can be). I’ve grown up with a respect for wildlife and interest in it, some of which stems from those very visits. But as I’ve grown up, what was once awe inspiring and entertaining has become more educational, thought provoking and a topic much closer to my heart.

I look at a visit as an opportunity to learn about conservation, but also about the heritage of these institutions. For example when in Vienna last year, I visit the Tiergarten Schonbrunn and was as interested in, if not more so in fact, in the infrastructure and layout of the zoo, as I was in what was contained within the enclosures. There is a history there I want to understand and I think that is something zoological collections should be looking to impart on their visitors - show the changes that have occurred and own that past. Offer the context and circumstances in which these curious institutions arose to help people better understand ‘why’. Let’s stop disassociating and hiding from the unpalatable bits of that past. It can’t be changed, it was what it was, so let’s be honest about it and show the progress that’s been made since, in terms of our attitude towards animals (although, has there really been any? Another question I often wrestle with and have done a lot this past week, in the wake of the controversy over Cecil the lion. But that is a blog in itself).

However reticent I am to admit it, and regretful, I think there is little point in suggesting the demise of zoos and wildlife parks. They have a value in terms of education, conservation and funding projects that for some species, offer a last ditch attempt to bring them back from the brink of extinction. I just wish Zoos could lose the ‘entertainment’ label. I don’t think they should be entertaining, I think they should be a sharp reminder of the power we yield over the natural world and that we should being doing all we can to hand that back and leave well alone. I read recently John Berger’s view that ’in zoos [animals] constitute the living monument to their own disappearance’ (1) and couldn’t help but get a heavy heart. What a sorry state of affairs the relationship between mankind and animals is currently in.

2. Why does the legislation suck?

I’ve also become increasingly aware of the lax legislation that surrounds exotic animals generally in the UK. It seems archaic to me. Something that’s been neglected and over looked for far too long. I know there are a number of organisations out there who are pushing for change and we really need to get behind them.

Born Free’s summer 2015 Wildlife Times highlights some harrowing statistics about the numbers of exotic pets in the UK. They estimate for example that there are at least 7,000 pet monkeys and other primates in the UK. And then there is the sheer range of different species being kept as household pets, all of which was bought to light in a recent survey. This includes amongst others snow leopards, polar bears and tapirs as well as meerkats and venomous snakes. The article asks ‘Just because we are legally able to keep any animal, does this mean it is morally right?’ and I’d ask you the same question but also – why in the world does the law permit this? These are animals that are not just wild but some that are listed as species in need of protection (vulnerable, threatened, critically endangered etc.)

And then there is the fact that British Parliament can’t pass a bill to ban the use of exotic animals in circuses. The why is just beyond me – especially when you consider that other European countries have introduced this ban. Why hang on to this ‘traditional’ relic when so many people are against it? Are we not better than that? How can someone look at an animal in that sort of situation and feel that it is acceptable? I know it comes low down on the priority list when compared to other issues such as welfare, defence and the economy, but come on people can’t we just get it sorted out?

3. Why bother when nature has its own agenda?

Nothing appears to be safe- whether from humans or from nature. For example, I read very recently how 10 Asiatic lions have been reportedly killed in the floods that hit Gujarat, which is a significant number when you consider that the remaining surviving population is believed to be only 523. This disaster has renewed criticism by some conservationists that the lions should not be kept in a single location (2) but I couldn’t help but think, is there any hope either with or without human intervention? Has the damage not already been done and are we not at a point where it’s irreparable in so many cases? But then the flip side to that view - I read another recent article which reports how the numbers of peregrine falcons have risen in Illinois, so much so that the species has been removed from state’s endangered and threatened list.

And so I end up right back at the beginning, questioning whether we ‘need’ zoos and what function they serve and whether we can actually make a difference.... I told you this wasn’t going to be straight forward.

4. When should I quit it all and become an animal activist?

When I read of the harsh reality in the way we treat animals - the huge number of species threatened and nearing extinction; or of those trapped in unfit cages and enclosures, used as photographers props and as circus entertainment, or shot for ‘sport’ – I get so enraged. Often my reaction to these things is “right, let’s get out there and do something” or “why?”, so often the question is why.

Three recent incidents particularly sparked this reaction. The first was the story of 66 chimpanzees abandoned by the company who had performed medical tests of them, after pledging ‘lifetime care’ when the laboratory was closed down. The second, was the overturning of South African Airlines ban on the transportation of hunting trophies, and third of course, was the hunting and death of Cecil (links 3 & 4 below). I want to get out there and do something, I just don’t know what or how at this moment in time. I really want to make an impact and not some half-hearted attempted that falls flat on its face. Perhaps using the work I’ve done and am about to do, I can influence policy, educate and help to make lasting changes. “Why haven’t you done so already?” I hear you ask, and another good question. I suppose my Born Free subscription isn’t quite enough is it…. and I think in light of recent news, I’d better get straight on it!

5. What’s the role of Natural History Museums?

Again, this is a topic I’ve engaged with a fair bit of late and it’s no more straight forward than any of the previous. I read recently somewhere natural history museums described as “cemeteries of corpses” – a phrase which evoked two images for me. On the one hand, it seemed to have rather negative connotations; why would we want to make pilgrimages to these sorts of places, to look at the dead and ‘decaying’. It all seems rather morbid when you think about it. Why look at something still, lifeless and posed when you could look at something full of life, via the internet, TV, in a wildlife park or best of all, in its natural environment. And in part, I can see the argument. I recently had a conversation with someone who argued this case, expressing criticism of the NHM South Kensington for the faded mammal taxidermy specimens that are on display, for this person had in fact wanted to be able to show their child a vibrant, impressive looking male lion.

So just why do we go to NHM’s? Is it to see, to study and to compare creatures – their physiognomy, colourings and size? Or is it to understand the work taken by that institution as a scientific organisation? I think in part it’s both, but I don’t think that the latter is something that is really explored enough by NHM’s and transmitted to the public as well as it could be. Natural history museums are oddities in that they are “cemeteries of corpses”, dead specimens put on display for public consumption. But so much more goes on behind the scenes, work of global scientific significance and I think that is so often overlooked. NHM’s aren’t just preserving specimens but they are continuing to carry out the scientific and educational work they have always done, so let’s inform people about that. There is a reason why these museums have in their stores, hundreds of specimens of creatures from around the world. Let’s tell people what drove, and continues to drive that collecting and scientific research.

In a positive step there have been some successful attempts to contextualise collections and explain these ‘oddities’ by doing exactly that. Both the Horniman Museum and Gardens and the NHM Tring have attempted to address this; the Horniman with its new introduction to the Natural history gallery and Tring with its new Rothschild gallery. Both have attempted to contextualise the collections, explaining why they exist, what drove the people that began those collections and what else was going on at the time to influence it. It’s a much needed approach and one which can only improve people’s understanding of what at first glance, are pretty odd institutions.

It’s all too easy to forget that what is on display is only a small proportion of a collection and that much more is held in a museum’s store. It’s here that the real scientific value is to be seen and understood and that was something I really grew to appreciate very recently when shown some of the bird collection at the NHM Tring.

6. And, what should we be telling people about natural history collections?

Last one, I promise!

Recently when in an archive, I was approached by a mother with her two young boys who enquired as to what I was looking at and why. This moment was pretty significant for me for two reasons really. Firstly because it was the first time I really owned my claim to being a historian. But I was also struck by her response when I told her that I was looking at evidence for what specimens were being donated too and bought by this collection, by whom, where from etc. in order to try and map what was going on and why. I think I find this aspect particularly interesting because I’m looking for some sort of justification that this whole over exploitation that occurred throughout the 19th and early part of the 20th century, was in some way ‘worth it’ or ‘justifiable’. I don’t for a moment think it was, but I cling to the hope that there might just be something that makes it seem that tiny bit ‘ok’.

And that is exactly what this mother had said she’d tried to explain to her boys. That the animal specimens on display hadn’t been killed or died and preserved for nothing, and that the knowledge derived from them was hugely important. That’s what I want to believe too, and to a certain point, I do. But the more you encounter statistics that only 1 in 12 animals survived transportation to Britain, or that such and such died only days after it arrived, and that an animal was beaten to death for striking out – it really does destroy that belief. And even more so when you read that that is exactly what happens now, and again I can draw on a Wildlife Times article, in particular the one on cheetahs as ‘The ultimate status symbol’.

It’s all just very difficult because on the one hand, the history of the exotic animal trade is a colourful and fascinating one. I’ve been amazed to discover how far it impacted upon and reflected wider social, cultural, political and economic issues and it has enabled me to look at history in a very different way. However, while I maybe studying this subject and sharing my research, I do not for one moment condone what went on and what continues to go on, nor do I want to be seen as glorifying it by talking about it. I suppose, you have to learn to compartmentalise it in order to keep perspective and this is something I am still very much learning to do. The topics of animal welfare and animal rights are ones I feel very passionately about and there are often a lot of deep breaths to be heard when I’m in the archive and reading up on it, just as there has been in writing this, as I struggle to come to terms with the reality of what I might be reading.

(1) John Berger, Why Look at Animals? (London: Penguin Books, 2009), 36.
(2) http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/asia/indian-floods-kill-10-endangered-asiatic-lions-in-gujarat-10390123.html
(3) http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3173127/The-heartbreaking-battle-save-66-chimpanzees-baby-left-starve-African-island-medical-firm-abandoned-finished-experimenting-them.html?ito=social-twitter_mailonline
(4) http://www.fastcompany.com/3048936/fast-feed/south-african-airways-lifts-ban-on-hunters-animal-trophies