The following Addresses and Papers on various subjects have been selected
from many others contributed by the Author, as thought to be possibly of
sufficient interest in their respective spheres to justify their
reproduction in a collected form. They are very diverse in their
character, and embrace a great variety of topics.
It has been well said that all men are delighted to look back; and the
Author, whilst thus recalling past work, can only express the hope that
some of these Papers may have contributed, however infinitesimally, each
in their own way and at their respective times, to help forward the
appreciation of the then present, or the progress of the world’s welfare
or knowledge in the future.
_Norwich_, 1908.
I.
PROPOSED PROVISION OF RECREATION GROUNDS FOR NORWICH.
Condensed Report of Speech in Norwich Town Council, 1880, reprinted from
the _Norwich Mercury_ of October 23rd, 1880:—
Dr. Eade, pursuant to notice, rose to call attention to the question of
recreation or playgrounds for the children of Norwich.
He reminded the Council that four or five years ago, after some
considerable talk with leading citizens, he ventured in the public Press
to call attention to the deficiency which existed in Norwich in respect
of recreation or playgrounds, and also of public baths. Ever since that
time the question had, more or less, started up at intervals, while
certain steps had been taken, which, in the course of time, would
probably result in something being achieved. But, as time went on, the
city was growing rapidly, open spaces were built upon, and he and those
who were anxious to see something done were passing away. He had,
therefore, taken upon himself once again to call attention to the
subject, and to ask the Council to take action upon it.
After remarking upon the great importance now generally attached to
questions affecting the public health, sanitation, or preventive
medicine—for these were synonymous terms—and the intimate connection now
everywhere recognised between the general welfare of the population of
our great cities, and the absence of disease, with the consequent
reduction in the death-rate, Dr. Eade said that it was entirely from the
point of view of the public health that he wished to call attention to
this subject. The physical growth, the physical well-being, and the
physical development of the population formed a large branch of this
subject; and he was afraid that, with regard to this, Norwich could not
be said to be in the forefront of progress. Even since he first mooted
the question many of the open spaces which he then believed available for
the purpose had been built over or otherwise dealt with.
Norwich, once a city of gardens, was rapidly becoming a cramped and
over-crowded city—at least, in its older portions; and in the new
portions no provision was made for the physical welfare of the
population, and no opportunities were given for the physical development
of the children. Not in a single instance had a good wide roadway been
opened up in the new districts; on the contrary, he was sorry to see in
one or two of the most populous districts roads which ought to be great,
wide thoroughfares, nothing better than narrow lanes. One most
remarkable instance was Unthank’s Road, which was being built up at the
lower part where it was extremely narrow, so that instead of being made a
great artery for the traffic of the city, it was converted into a mere
lane, and it ought to be called Unthank’s Lane—not dignified by the name
of road.
No doubt before many years were over the city would have to incur a large
expenditure in widening that and other roads. How short-sighted, then,
was the policy of allowing such encroachments to go on!
To show what bearing these points had on public opinion long ago, Dr.
Eade pointed out that even in Shakespeare’s time the question was raised,
as was seen in “Julius Cæsar.” Mark Antony, in his speech to the
citizens, first asks—“Wherein did Cæsar thus deserve your love?” and then
the reply comes (by his Will) “To every Roman citizen he gives
seventy-five drachmas;” and afterwards—
“Moreover, he hath left you all his walks,
His private arbours, and new planted orchards
On this side Tiber; he hath left them you
And to your heirs for ever; common pleasures,
To walk abroad and recreate yourselves.”
Dr. Eade proceeded to say he wished there were Julius Cæsars at the
present time desirous of making wills for the benefit of Norwich. He
then quoted the opinions of Lord Shaftesbury and the _Lancet_ as to
places of public recreation and their influence upon the physical and
moral welfare of the population, and added, that he fully agreed with the
writer in the _Daily Press_, signing himself “C. I. T.,” when he
wrote—“The city expects the authorities to guard the health and lives of
the humbler population at all costs.”
Other towns had done and were doing that which he wanted them to do in
Norwich. Towns as large as Birmingham and as small as Falmouth, had
provided public parks, and many had more than one. Birmingham had seven
parks and recreation grounds, Sheffield four, and Bradford three, while
the latter town had lately spent £150,000 in carrying out what he was now
advocating. Norwich had a population of 90,000, and was rapidly
increasing and spreading on almost all sides—open spaces being constantly
taken up for building purposes. Though they had playgrounds attached to
School Board schools, he was sorry to find they were not available to the
juvenile population—that they were only open to the children attending
the schools during school hours, or a few minutes before and after
school.
Norwich stood the very lowest on the list of the towns of England with
regard to this question of recreation grounds. They had waited and
waited until the difficulty of providing such places had greatly
increased, while if they waited longer these difficulties would become
almost insuperable. When he first started in this matter he could have
found, or had the offer of, several open places, but those were now built
over. He, at that time, took a great deal of trouble in the matter, but
soon found that notwithstanding the support given him by several
prominent citizens, it was far too large a matter for a single individual
to carry through; but now he had the honour of a seat in the Council he
claimed their attention, and, if possible, their powerful sympathy and
support. They might ask where was the demand for recreation grounds. He
asked those who had children to bring up whether they would allow them to
play in narrow streets and crowded courts breathing impure air? What was
the reason of there being so many puny, delicate, and small children? He
ventured to say this was almost entirely due to the unwholesome
surroundings in which they were brought up. He mentioned that in Glasgow
recently, one medical man lecturing in that city said that in one year he
had treated 330 cases of children with deformed bones—bent legs, bent
thighs, knock-knees, etc.—which deformities were entirely due to the want
of proper development and to their unwholesome surroundings. Much
superior in many respects as Norwich was to Glasgow, he ventured to say
that the same condition of things existed here. But the demand for
places of recreation was, he contended, proved by the fact that whenever
a plot of ground was cut up for building purposes, children crowded there
from all parts of the city to play, and this they continue to do until
driven away by the advance of bricks and mortar. Then, too, Chapel
Field, when it was open, was often taken advantage of by 500 and 600
children and others, who went there for play and enjoyment.
After making other observations as to the need of such places, Dr. Eade
said there were two ways in which the want might be supplied.
Playgrounds could not be taken close to every door; but in every new
district care should be taken to secure the setting apart of a certain
amount of space for the children. One plan he would suggest was that at
various points in the city a field should be purchased and thrown open to
the children; and another plan was to purchase or hire a large space
which might be converted into a people’s park, with a small portion set
apart for the use of children.
It might be said that such places would really be used by the rough
portion of the population; but he contended that it was for just this
portion of the population they were most required. Let the rough
children be brought up to know the worth of fresh air, what it is to have
healthy frames, so that in after life they may not be poor and puny and
miserable. The very fact that the rough children of the poor would use
these places was an argument in favour of their provision. A healthy
body meant not only a healthy mind, but a contented mind; and with
recreation grounds for their use the children might be expected to grow
up amenable to proper and right feelings, and in every sense better
members of the community.
Believing as he did in the doctrine of _salus populi suprema lex_, he
earnestly recommended the Council to take some steps in the direction he
had indicated.
He concluded by moving—“That this Council, recognising the duty of
providing recreation grounds for the children of Norwich, appoints a
special committee to consider and report as to the best means of carrying
out this resolution.”
A Committee of the Council was then at once appointed.
* * * * *
NOTE.—At this date there were practically no public recreation grounds.
At the present time we have the following:—
Mousehold Heath, 150 acres.
Chapel Field Gardens.
The Castle Gardens.
The Gildencroft.
Waterloo Park.
South Heigham, 6 acres.
The Woodlands Plantation (given by Mrs. Pym).
Lakenham and St. Martin’s Bathing Places and Grounds.
Eaton Park, 80 acres.
Besides the numerous smaller spaces and churchyards which have been
re-arranged and planted, and made both pleasing and (many of them)
suitable for outdoor use or rest. For the promotion and carrying out of
these, we are most largely indebted to Mr. Edward Wild, Mr. W. E.
Hansell, and the Rev. J. Callis, with one or two others.
This and the next following Address were the outcome of the very strong
impression produced upon the Author by observing the puniness or physical
inferiority of much of the poor population with whom he had to deal as
Physician to the Norwich Dispensary, when first coming to Norwich, as
compared with that of the neighbouring country district where he had
formerly resided. It appeared to him that want of outdoor exercise and
the public-house habit were the main causes of this difference. And
hence these two subjects of Recreation and Temperance at once engaged his
attention, as they have continued to do ever since.
How such views have now developed, and also that of the necessity of good
air and exercise for the young, in order to normal adult health and
vigour, is patent to all.
II.
ON TEMPERANCE AND AIDS TO TEMPERANCE.
An Address given at the Parochial Hall, South Heigham, in March, 1879, at
a meeting held for the purpose of forming for the parish a branch of the
Church of England Temperance Society, the Rev. J. Callis, Vicar,
presiding.
Reprinted from the _Norwich Mercury_ of March 5th, 1879.
The evils of excessive drinking are vast and widespread. As doctors, we
are constantly being brought face to face with them—in injured health, in
wasted life, in ruined homes. Much has been said, and will doubtless be
said again to-night, on these points; and the desirability of a
Temperance Society for this, as for other parishes, will be enforced.
But believing that our object is to promote temperance in every possible
way, I shall to-night allude to some of those social conditions which
necessarily have a great bearing upon this important question.
Now, it is well known that much difference of opinion has existed as to
the influence exerted by fermented liquors when taken in small or
reasonable quantities, some thinking that in these small quantities they
are pleasant and practically harmless; others holding that in no quantity
are they either necessary or even free from injurious effects. Whatever
may be the absolute truth of either of these opinions in reference to a
limited use of these liquors, I think all are of one mind as to their
pernicious effects when taken in any considerable quantity. All are
agreed that drunkenness is a vice, baneful to the individual, hurtful to
his friends; while doctors and physiologists are unanimous in asserting
it to be positively proved that a too free use of them not only produces
the outwardly injurious effects with which we are so familiar, but also
gradually induces such degenerative disease of various internal organs as
undermines the health and materially shortens the existence of the
individual. With such a conflict of opinion still existing, our society
wisely declines to decide that which science has been unable to settle,
and opens wide her doors, and asks both these classes of thinkers to come
in. She invites one section of her members to do no violence to their
views of what constitutes temperance, or of the right way of influencing
their neighbours. She merely asks them to join this society, and simply
pledge themselves to practice and encourage that temperance as to which
everyone may agree. But she tries to speak more mildly to those who are
travelling in the well-trod road of Intemperance, which leads to mental
and bodily ruin; and she entreats them to embrace the only means yet
known which can save them from their destructive course. She asks them
to pledge themselves to endeavour, by entire abstinence from the
destroying drink, to save themselves from the miserable end to which they
are hastening.
Speaking for myself and of myself, although a very moderate and small
drinker, I am not an abstainer. {16} But though believing that many
persons may take a small quantity of fermented liquor without being the
worse for it, I also know that to many persons even a small quantity is
more or less injurious; whilst as to others, I can but repeat what has
been so often said before, and I do it with the greatest possible
emphasis, that to many alcohol is a positive poison, unsuited to their
temperaments, destructive to their health, and productive of the worst
evils, both morally and physically. It is curious to notice, in passing,
not only that the use of wine is alluded to through a large part of the
Bible history, but also that the injurious effects of it seem always to
have been precisely the same in character as those which are so much
dilated on in the present day. Dr. Richardson, perhaps the greatest
living exponent of the physiological properties of alcohol, and the
greatest denouncer of its habitual use, speaks of its effects according
to the increased quantities in which it is used. He describes its
influence thus:—“In the first stage of alcoholism,” _i.e._, in small
quantity, he says, “it tends to paralyse the minute blood vessels,
producing their relaxation and distension, illustrated by the flush seen
on the face of those who have (in familiar language) been drinking, by
the redness of the eyes and nose,” etc., etc. This stage of excitement,
he describes as being followed—if the quantity be increased—by some loss
of muscular power, with disturbance of the reasoning powers and of the
will; whilst again a further quantity produces a complete collapse of
nervous function, when the drunken man, who previously, perhaps, had been
excited, talking loud, and staggering in his walk, becomes stupid,
helpless, and falls into a heavy sleep. And are we not all familiar with
the quotations:—“His eyes shall be red with wine”; “Wine is a mocker;
strong drink is raging”; “They are out of the way through strong drink,
they err in vision, they stumble in judgment”; “They shall drink and make
a noise as through wine”; “Who hath woe? Who hath sorrow? Who hath
contentions? Who hath redness of eyes? They that tarry long at the
wine.” “At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an
adder.”
Those who have taken the trouble to read Dr. Richardson’s lectures on
alcohol, will see that the effects of wine, as thus described long ages
ago, are identical with those which he found experimentally to result
from alcohol at the present day; and the redness of the eyes, the
contentions and quarrelling, the loss of judgment, and the ulterior
disastrous results to the health, spoken of in the infallible Word, are
only too familiarly known at the present day. Nor let it be said that
wine is not the beverage of the multitude at the present time. For this
point has also been experimentally investigated by Dr. Richardson, and he
found that whatever the alcoholic drink, or whatever the adulterations,
the effect of these variations was insignificant, and that the real evil
results of drinking were always due to the alcohol contained in the
fermented liquors, whether these were wine, beer, or ardent spirits. But
the subject of drinking and its evil influences, both physical and moral,
has now been so long and so often placed before the public, that I shall
gladly employ the short time left to me in alluding to some suggestions
which have been made, with a view to assist in remedying the drinking
habits of the people, and to enable them to wean themselves from these
where no hope of voluntary or total abstention on a large scale can
reasonably be hoped for. These suggestions have been very numerous. The
first and most sweeping suggestion is the well-known one, which ignores
every other consideration but the evil effects of the excessive use of
alcohol, and proposes to get rid of drunkenness by rendering it
impossible to get the drink. Legislation tending to this end was tried,
as is well known, in America, under the title of the Maine Liquor Law,
but its success has not been such as to induce other localities to follow
the example. Again, systems of partial restriction, such as are known as
the Gothenburg system, have been tried, or proposed, in the form of a
Permissive Bill, such as has been advocated by Sir Wilfrid Lawson; but
neither of these have commended themselves to the judgment of mankind as
being the right solution of this question. The fact is social man and
mankind constitute a large question. Over indulgence is not limited to
the cravings of the stomach. Vice would not be eradicated by the simple
removal of beer, however much assisted by it, and man would not be at
once raised to the desired moral level were public-houses at once
abolished. And so out of this conviction have arisen the various efforts
which have been made, and are being persistently made, to attain, or
assist in attaining, the wished-for results by more gradually acting
moral means. These means, or aids to temperance, as I would call them,
embrace several distinct influences, all of which such a temperance
society as this is calculated to exert. They consist, primarily, in
diffusing among the population, by meetings, by speeches, and by
writings, a thorough knowledge of the personal evil which such habits
necessarily and inevitably produce; (1) By bringing to bear the
influence which friends and neighbours, so instructed, can exercise; (2)
By forming public opinion and rendering it so forcible that the general
mass of individuals must needs bow to its dictates; and, lastly, by these
and all other assisting means, endeavouring to strengthen the personal
control of self, and to make the individual himself contribute entirely
to, not only his own good, but, by his improved example, to that of his
neighbours and the community at large. I trust that through the force of
public opinion it will soon be thought by the working classes as vulgar
and as low to get intoxicated, as it now is by those with more advantages
of means and information.
Much has been said and written about the influence which _education_ is
likely to exert in the future upon the habits of the people. There can
be no doubt, I think, that the influence which will be gradually so
exercised will be very great. A mind trained to better things will abhor
and revolt at the gross pleasure which it would otherwise have tolerated
or enjoyed. And we all (I am sure) rejoice to see that education is
being spread abroad in our land, and that the rising generation will all,
in greater or less degree, have their minds trained sufficiently to
prevent their slumbering in the lowest abysses of non-development, and to
awaken them, and to lead them to the knowledge at least that there are
better enjoyments in the human body and the human mind than the false and
injurious excitement of incessant alcoholic stimulation. But,
unfortunately, education is like a tree. It takes a long time for its
development, and the circumstances of the time are too urgent to wait in
dependence alone upon this agency. For all the while that we are
talking, the world is living and acting, and living under such conditions
that, if present customs are to be changed, others and better ones must
be found and provided in substitution for them.
There is a population to deal with, a people largely and often
exhaustively occupied during the day, and so occupied, that a large
portion of it requires some relaxation in the evening, after the hours of
toil shall have passed away. In the country districts the difficulty is
less; but in the crowded districts of our large towns, where often many
houses, without any surroundings, exist, and these, when present, often
not the most wholesome or commodious, some means of passing the evening
in reasonable recreation are absolutely necessary. The richer classes
even, in large towns and cities, have felt the need of their _clubs and
meeting places_, and gradually, also, working-men have followed this
example, and have, in many places, set up their clubs of various kinds.
If anyone would like to know the demand that exists for evening places of
resort, I would ask him to observe the throngs of people who pour out of
the public-houses on their closing at the hour of eleven at night. It is
not to be supposed that all the frequenters of these houses of
entertainment are drunkards, are even lovers of strong drink, although,
from the constitution of these houses, they must necessarily drink to pay
for the accommodation they receive; but they use them as clubs, as the
only places open to them in which they can spend their evenings, and in
which they find the light, the warmth, the company, the newspapers, the
interchange of speech, which they crave, and which are there alone
obtainable. This view of the uses to which the public-house parlour is
applied, is confirmed by observation of what happens when a
well-appointed circus or other similar place of outdoor amusement is
located in such a town as Norwich. For although no drink, good or bad,
is sold in the building, yet it may be seen for weeks together to be
nightly thronged by a company of one, or, perhaps, two thousand people.
Acting upon this idea, and on this principle, there have now been
established in many places public-houses without those elements which
render them undesirable. The Café Company’s houses, like to that
recently opened in Norwich (and to which, I am sure, we all wish good
speed), in which provision is made for amusement, for food, and for
non-intoxicating drinks, are of this class, and so are the establishments
of the London Coffee Public-house Association, and the Coffee Tavern
Company, and others. But a recent writer (Mr. Moggridge, _Macmillan_,
October, 1878) goes much further, and suggests the trial of the plan of
retaining the present public houses, while keeping their attractive
features, throwing the sale of drink so far into the background that it
shall be the least prominent and important part of the establishment.
At present, of course, the public-houses exist only or chiefly in the
sale of fermented liquors, and not for the benefit of the frequenter,
whose primary object is often, at least at first, the enjoyment of the
public parlour and its society. The writer above mentioned proposes, at
least for a time, to convert them into veritable clubs, where fermented
drinks can certainly be obtained, but where they shall by no means be the
great and prominent part of the refreshment provided. He thinks that
then it might be possible gradually to wean a large portion of their
frequenters from their drinking habits, and gradually also to introduce a
better and more harmless system than now prevails. Whether or not such a
scheme as this is practicable, or even desirable, it appears certain that
in any attempt to close the present houses of public resort, other and
more suitable ones must be provided.
Before quitting this part of the subject, I would desire to call
attention to the laudable attempts already made in two adjoining parishes
to furnish a sort of evening club room for the use of the poorer
parishioners. In one of these parishes, I believe, the mission room is
open for use every evening, and in the other a commencement has been made
by opening the schoolroom on Saturday evenings. For these, newspapers,
or reasonable games, are essential, and it is probable (as man is both a
hungry and thirsty animal) that if they are to be permanently successful
both food and harmless drinks must be obtainable; but whether tea and
coffee will be sufficient, or whether some of the various unfermented
drinks are required, which are described in a little book called, “A Book
of One Hundred Beverages,” I must not now stay to consider.
In England and countries of similar climate, the recreation difficulty is
much greater than in more favoured countries, where the climate, in a
larger portion of the year, admits of the evening hours being passed in
the open air. Here, for months together, the evenings’ relaxation must
needs be within doors, and in many towns there is literally no place of
indoor resort but the public-house, and, perhaps, the theatre.
A great aid to temperance will doubtless be given when, under the
operation of the Artisans’ Dwelling Act, or other similar legislation,
the character of the worst localities of our towns improves. It is
notorious that the narrower the streets, the more crowded the courts, and
the worse the houses, the more do gin-palaces flourish, and the more does
the population give itself up to the artificial stimulus of fermented
liquors. And the reason is not far to seek, for if there be an absence
of all comfort at home; if the house be small, and crowded, and dirty; if
the water be bad, and perhaps unsuited for drinking; if there be no bit
of garden in which to lounge, and to grow a few things in which interest
can be taken; if there be nothing in home to render this agreeable—then,
as a matter of course, recourse is had to that neighbouring house where
nearly all these conditions are reversed, and dirt, and squalor, and
crowding are exchanged for light, and brightness, and space.
I have said that an English climate is less adapted than many others to
_out-of-doors’ recreations_ and amusements. Yet there is, even in
England a very considerable portion of the year in which the existence of
public parks and recreation grounds would contribute very largely to the
promotion of temperance by providing pleasant spots in which to pass the
hours unabsorbed by labour. But, I am sorry to say that our old city of
Norwich has sadly degenerated from the time of Pepys, and enjoys an
unenviable pre-eminence in the entire absence of these most desirable
public spaces within its boundaries. With the exception of Chapel Field,
we have not a single open public space. There is not a spot where the
lads can play at cricket or football, or where their seniors can lounge
away an evening hour; while as to a public park, the chance of this
appears to grow dimmer and dimmer as the population of the city spreads
and increases. I have ventured on more than one occasion to call
attention to the need of such places for Norwich, and I have pointed to
Mousehold Heath as a place which should, at all costs, be preserved for
the city. But time passes. Several available spots for public
recreation grounds have, one by one, been absorbed for building purposes,
and Mousehold Heath—a space which appears to have been specially provided
for the health and salubrity of future Norwich, and whose beauties and
capabilities must surely be unappreciated by our citizens—is being
gradually devoted to gravel pits, to brick kilns, and—to destruction.
And let it not be supposed that the temperance of a population has no
relation to its health and its general welfare. Beyond the attractions
of a fresh and open spot, as a counter attraction to the public-house,
the growth of a strong and healthy population tends powerfully in the
direction of temperate habits, for the feeble and weakly will naturally
seek indoor resorts, whilst the strong and the muscular will equally
surely seek the open air. I wish I could think that Norwich was not
suffering from this cause. But whoever observed the generally puny
appearance, the poor _physique_, and the frequently strumous aspect of
many of the children and youth received into our schoolrooms during the
late flood, and many of whom came from the most crowded parts of the
city, must have been struck with the evidence they afforded of the want
that existed for them of light, of air, and of healthy exercise.
Lest I should be thought to be dwelling too long on a subject of little
importance, or little bearing upon this night’s proceedings, let me read
over to you a list of those places in England (and I am not sure that it
is a complete list) which, during the past two or three years, have
either had presented to them or have felt it their duty to provide public
parks and recreation grounds for the use of the residents:—Reading,
Birmingham, Dublin, Wigan, Leicester, Limerick, Lancaster, Heywood,
Derby, Wolverhampton, Leeds, Longton, Torquay, Sheffield, Swansea,
Newcastle, Exeter, and Falmouth.
The only other aid to temperance, to which I will now allude, is that of
_public galleries of art and natural history_, and so forth. These are
but small aids, but still they are appreciable ones, and I would gladly
see such in Norwich. I do not know how far the disused gaol would be
convertible to such public purposes, but it has struck me that the site
is an admirable one, and the space ample for the collection in one spot,
of an art gallery, museum, free library, popular lecture rooms, and for
any other purposes which might properly come under the heading of popular
instruction. The former city gaol has long been used as a public
library. It would be a happy change if the late one could now be
devoted, not to the punishment but the prevention of crime; not to the
expiation of the results of indulgence in drink, but to the better
training of men’s minds, so as to teach them, by instinct and by culture,
to avoid the destructive paths of vice and of excess.
I think, sir, I have said enough to show how large is this temperance
question, in which we are all, in which, indeed, the whole community, is
so greatly interested. In proof of its recognised importance, we may
point to the fact that doctors, physiologists, ministers of religion,
peers of the realm, and even a Prime Minister, have raised their voices
in opposition to the progress of the crying evil of drunkenness. Many
earnest men have striven, by the influence of their continued advice, and
by the example of their personal abstention from intoxicating liquors, to
help on the good work; and many others have done so in various indirect
ways, and especially by efforts to ameliorate the condition of the
people, and provide for them alternative means of harmless and rational
occupation or amusement. These efforts are so persistent and now so
general; they are founded upon such complete knowledge, and such
recognised necessity, that they cannot fail rapidly to produce good
fruit, and I believe they have already produced some good fruit in
Norwich. But as social knowledge ripens, as acquaintance with the means
of securing the general well-being increases, so we may hope that the
difficulties attending the reformation of evil habits will lessen; and
although we may not hope to see established a condition of houses, of
streets, of towns, of food and drink, of labour, and of all those
conditions which would render human life and surroundings ideally
perfect, yet continuous efforts must be made to realise for the community
such moral and physical surroundings as shall conduce to their welfare in
the highest possible degree. And to this end, let us be sure that
nothing will contribute so much as that soberness and temperance which it
is the object of this Church of England Society to encourage and
inculcate.
[Picture: Sir Peter Eade with tortoises]
III.
ON TORTOISES. {29}
I have almost to apologize for bringing before so learned and critical a
Society as this, the few notes and observations I have made upon the
“manners and customs” of my pair of common land Tortoises, partly because
I feel that much of what I have observed must also have been observed by
other members of this Society; and still more because (as is well known)
that incomparable master both of observation and expression—White of
Selborne—has already noted, and placed upon record, the most interesting
of the habits of these creatures.
Mine is thus necessarily a “twice-told tale.” I can only hope that the
never flagging interest which naturalists take in the observation or
record of the habits of animals, will suffice to make them bear with me
for the short time I shall detain them.
I have in my garden two of the common land Tortoises (_Testudo Grœca_),
and these have been in my possession three and four years respectively.
I purchased them from the barrow of a hawker in Norwich streets, in two
following years—one being a little larger than the other, and they are in
consequence known by the names of the _old gentleman_ and the _young
gentleman_.
Although selected as the best from a number of others, I am sorry to say
that they both appeared to be ill or greatly injured, and it was a
considerable time before they recovered sufficiently either to begin to
take food, or to move about with their proper freedom, or with the
well-known liveliness of Tortoises!
Another Tortoise, which I purchased, did actually die a short time
afterwards, having lived in a state of semi-stupor for the intervening
period; and I fear that the capability of these creatures for suffering
is not much recognised in the usual methods of their conveyance and
treatment.
The two Tortoises which survived have, as I said, now lived on my
premises and thriven for three and four years. They have become almost
pets. They most evidently recognise the place as their home. They know
the various localities of the garden perfectly. They know the sunny
spots to which to go at suitable times to bask. They know where to find
sun, and where to find this and shade combined, when they so desire it;
and they return, afternoon after afternoon, to the same cosy, and dry,
and sheltered spots, under the dry ivy of the wall, or elsewhere, which
they have often previously selected as their night’s abode.
It is very plain that they have some recognition of individuals. For
instance, if Lady Eade and myself are both preparing to feed them, they
will constantly leave me and walk off to her—doubtless because she is
more in the habit of bringing them their favourite kinds of food than I
am.
They appear to be quick of _sight_, but show very little, if any, sign of
having any impressions conveyed to them by the sense of _hearing_. They
evidently possess a full sense of _taste_, for they discriminate
instantly between food they like, and that which is less palatable to
them.
The daily _habits_ of these creatures are certainly very staid and
methodical, and vary but little, except as the season of the year, and
the warmth of the day, vary.
They are often, in the height of summer, quite early risers, and on sunny
mornings will often be up, and perambulating the garden, and nibbling the
little trefoil leaves found amongst the grass, by seven or six o’clock,
or even earlier. But, I must say, that these early habits are quite
limited to the very finest weather; and it has seemed that in the matter
of early activity, these animals always err, if at all, on the side of
care and caution. They never leave their beds, or the neighbourhood of
cover, if there is the slightest appearance of cloudiness or rain, at
least until the day is well up; and for a large portion of their year the
time for coming forth is not until eight, nine, or ten o’clock.
In electrical weather they are never lively, even though the day be
intermittingly hot and bright; and at such times they are often almost
lethargic, and show great indifference as to feeding.
They appear to have an extreme and instinctive objection to rain. Cloudy
weather makes them dull. A passing cloud will make them discontinue
eating. And the passage of a person or object suddenly between them and
the sun will cause them as suddenly to draw in their heads. The dislike
of clouds and their accompaniments is therefore a very marked instinct
with them.
If not fed, they will go and help themselves, not to grass, but to some
white Clover growing with the grass in the garden; or in default of this,
to some of the garden plants—by preference the fleshy-leaved ones, such
as the Echiveria or Sedum—after which they will retire to some warm
place, and bask in the sun. They have a special liking for the warm
vine-border in front of my greenhouse; and if the day be not too hot,
they will tilt themselves up edgeways against the south wall of the
greenhouse, or upon the edge of some tuft of flowers; or if the sun is
too warm, they will then cover their heads up with leaves or earth on the
bed, leaving their backs uncovered and exposed to the heat. (In this
respect they seem to remind us of the habits of the tiger in his jungle.)
But they appear greatly to prefer being fed, and having their food found
for them; indeed further, one, at least, much prefers to have his food
held up to him, and almost put into his mouth when he opens it.
They take their food with a snapping movement; masticate it little if at
all; and when feeding themselves, cut or tear it with the sharp-hooked
anterior portion of the upper jaw.
In the hottest weather their appetites are very fine (thus they will eat
several large Lettuce leaves at one time), and they bear a close relation
to the warmth and clearness of the day, and the period of the year.
Their favourite foods are—besides Trefoil, already mentioned, and garden
flowers—Lettuces, Dandelions, French Beans, etc. They are much attracted
by yellow blossoms, and greedily eat those of the Dandelion and
Buttercup. One of my creatures is very fond of sliced Apple, though the
other will not eat it.
But the vegetable of which they are most fond is the Green Pea. Both of
them will leave all other food for this, and they will consume at a meal
a very considerable number of these Peas. Indeed, so fond are they of
them, that they will follow a person accustomed to feed them with them
about the garden, and will even try to clamber up his legs to get at
them.
After sleeping and basking, they will again eat, and then again sleep
once or twice more during the day; but in cooler or doubtful weather,
they usually eat only once a day, and sometimes not at all.
Although those who hawk Tortoises about the streets will often tell
purchasers to put them into their kitchens that they may eat Beetles and
Cockroaches, I believe it to be well understood that they are
intrinsically vegetable feeders; a position well put by Frank Buckland,
who says that Tortoises put into a kitchen to eat Beetles will in due
time die of starvation, and then most probably the Beetles will eat them.
Certainly ours never eat anything but vegetable food. But a Tortoise in
a neighbouring garden does every morning consume a very substantial
quantity of bread and milk, or rather bread well-soaked in milk, and he
appears to thrive well upon it. Our Tortoises never drink water, and are
decidedly not tempted to drink by milk being offered to them.
Whatever the season, the Tortoises retire very early to bed. The warmth
and sunniness of the day appear to regulate the exact time, but they
rarely remain up after three or four o’clock, and in the cooler seasons,
or on dull days, they retire much earlier.
They will go day after day to the same warm and leafy nook; and they have
a habit on rising in the morning of simply turning out of bed, and lying
for a time just outside of their bed-place, with their heads stupidly
stretched out, or staring vacantly up into the air, before entering upon
the serious business of the day. {33}
I should say their _Memory_ is very strong. I have said they remember
persons. They remember places they know, and if carried away will march
straight off and back again to the place they wish to go to; and what is
more remarkable, when brought out in the spring after seven or eight
months’ hybernation, they do exactly as they did the day before they went
to sleep; and will march off as direct to the old spots as if they had
only had one day’s interregnum.
As a further instance of memory or intelligent knowledge, we are
constantly in the habit, in the cooler weather, of putting them to bed
under a mat in the greenhouse; and we very constantly find them, in the
morning, waiting by the greenhouse door to be let out, clearly
remembering that this is the place by which they will have to pass into
the open air.
They do not appear to care much for each other’s society—(I believe they
are both males)—but they do not fight. Neither are they respecters of
each other’s persons, for they walk over each other’s backs in the most
indifferent way, if either happens to be in the direct road of the
other’s progression.
One of the creatures is certainly fond of climbing. We have several
times found him mounted (when shut up in the greenhouse) upon the other’s
back; or upon an inverted flower-pot; and once we found him in a most
pitiable condition through the exercise of these scandent aspirations.
He had evidently been endeavouring to climb up some flower sticks placed
slantingly against the wall, and in doing this he had turned over upon
his axis; and when we found him he was reclining upon his back against
these sticks, and standing upon one hind foot, whilst with the other, and
with his fore feet, he was making frantic efforts to reinstate himself in
a more comfortable position. As so placed he reminded us irresistibly
and ludicrously of a huge toad held up by a fore leg.
Our Tortoises have certainly got tempers. They hiss when they are
meddled with. They resist and try to scratch, or otherwise hurt, when
lifted up from their place of repose; and they exhibit distinct
petulance, and will jerk themselves forward out of your hand when you are
again placing them upon the ground.
They are also very particular when going to their evening places of
repose, and most distinctly refuse to go to rest in the place in which
you try to place them, however comfortable this may appear to be, even if
they have previously selected this spot for themselves day after day.
Mr. Darwin speaks of a large kind of Tortoise which is reputed to be able
to walk at the rate of sixty yards in ten minutes; _i.e._, three hundred
and sixty yards in the hour, or four miles a day. I have twice timed the
rate of progress of one of my Tortoises. Once it walked ten feet in the
minute, and another time twenty feet in the minute. This latter is at
the rate of twelve hundred feet, or four hundred yards, in the hour; or
of a mile in between four and five hours. This truly is not quite the
ordinary rate of the hare’s progress, but I think they can cross a
certain small distance of ground much more rapidly than we should at
first suspect.
Once more. These creatures distinctly grow in size from year to year.
Our two measure respectively seven and seven and a half inches in length.
And they must have elongated fully an inch in the three and four years of
our possession.
I weighed them this year, on May 29th, soon after their waking up for the
summer, and again on September 8th. They weighed in May, 2 lbs. 7½ ozs.
and 2 lbs. 3½ ozs.; a fortnight ago they weighed 2 lbs. 10 ozs. and 2
lbs. 5 ozs.; having thus gained in weight through their summer feeding 2½
ozs. and 1½ ozs. respectively. {36}
When the due period arrives in which they naturally bury themselves, and
so surround themselves with earthen bulwarks, and then retire for the
winter into their carapace castles, we put them down into a cupboard in
the cellar.
Mr. White remarks that his Tortoise did not bury itself into the ground
before November 1st, but ours are cold and torpid, and quite ready to
hybernate by the first week in October. Probably the different latitude
and longitude of Selborne and Norwich may account for this difference of
time.
In this cellar cupboard, the Tortoises remain until the end of April,
when, though still dull and stupid, the weather is getting sufficiently
warm for them to enjoy the sun for a portion of the day. But the frosts
and cold of this period of the year are still dangerous. And a relative
of mine lost both of his old friends (who for years had taken care of
themselves in the winter in his garden) during the cold weather of this
spring, after they had duly survived the far greater cold of the winter
in the ground places in which they had buried themselves.
From October to April—fully seven months—they rest from their labours of
eating, of breathing, shall I say, of thinking? (or nearly so, for they
occasionally stir a little, and are found to have moved a little from
under their straw). But they neither eat nor drink, nor see light, nor
(I believe) open their eyes. And when touched during this time they feel
of a stony coldness, and certainly appear to have none of their faculties
in operation.
But with the warmer weather, they again gradually resume the precise
habits of the preceding year. Gradually, their bright little eyes resume
their intelligence; their memory re-awakens; and they return to the ways,
and the habits, and the places of the preceding season, as if their sleep
of seven months were but a single night, and last summer verily but as
yesterday.
They are in many respects both curious and remarkable animals. We find
them to have enough of intelligence, enough of quaintness, and apparently
enough of affection, to give them considerable interest in the eyes of
their owners, and to raise them out of the level of despised reptiles.
Whilst their remarkable construction, and mysterious power of
hybernation, render them specially worthy of study and contemplation.
These specialities and peculiarities must be my much-needed excuse for
having troubled you so long with these few details of their personally
observed habits and ways.
IV.
A FURTHER NOTE UPON TORTOISES. {38}
In the year 1886 I read before this Society a paper in which I recorded
some of the observed habits and peculiarities of a pair of Tortoises
which I had then kept in my garden for three and four years respectively.
This paper was afterwards published in our Society’s “Transactions” (Vol.
iv. p. 316), and will probably be remembered by some of our members.
I would like this evening to say a few further words upon these
creatures, which are still living and in my possession—more particularly
with reference to their _rate of growth and increase_.
The two Tortoises have now been in my possession ten and nine years
respectively. Six years ago I reported to this Society that _they
measured_, the one 7½ and the other 7 inches in _length_. Now at the end
of six further years their antero-posterior measurements are 9½ and 9
inches respectively—the measurements being made from before backwards
over the convex surface of the carapace. They have, therefore, each of
them, thus measured, increased exactly two inches in length in the last
six years, or at the rate of exactly one-third of an inch per year.
(The under flat surface of the shell now measures 6½ and 6¼ inches from
before backwards. These Tortoises are said not usually to exceed 10
inches in entire length.)
Then as to their _weight_. I have now kept an exact record of their
respective weights in the spring and autumn of each of the past seven
years, _i.e._ their weight on commencing to hybernate in October or
November, and again their weight on returning afresh to light and more
active existence in April or May of the following spring. And it is
interesting to notice how almost continuously they have increased both in
size and weight; and also how corresponding are the alterations, or
otherwise, in the consecutive years, both of spring and autumn, of the
two animals.
In my former paper, I mentioned that during the summer months of 1886,
when I first weighed them, _i.e._ from May to September, my Tortoises had
gained in weight, the one 2½ ounces, and the other 1½ ounces; whilst each
of them became lighter in the following winter by 2½ ounces. Since that
time the spring and autumn weighings have been regularly continued, and
the result is shown in the following table.
WEIGHT
OF LARGER TORTOISE. OF SMALLER TORTOISE.
APRIL. OCTOBER. APRIL. OCTOBER.
YEAR. lbs. ozs. lbs. ozs. lbs. ozs. lbs. ozs.
1886 2 7½ 2 10 2 3½ 2 5
1887 2 7½ 2 10 2 2½ 2 5
1888 2 10 2 13½ 2 5 2 8¼
1889 2 13 2 14 2 8 2 8½
1890 2 12½ 3 0½ 2 7½ 2 12
1891 2 15½ 3 2 2 10 2 12½
1892 3 1 3 3½ 2 12 2 14½
In the seven years, therefore, 1886 to 1892, the larger Tortoise has
increased in weight from 2 lbs. 10 ozs. to 3 lbs. 3½ ozs.; and the
smaller Tortoise from 2 lbs. 5 ozs. to 2 lbs. 14½ ozs., giving a total
increase of weight in this period of exactly 9 ounces for each animal, or
an average annual increase of about 1 ounce and 5½ drachms (avoirdupois).
The general result also of the above weighings is to show that, in
average seasons in England, these creatures gain from 2 to 2½ ounces in
each summer, and lose again a varying but considerable portion of this
increase during the ensuing six or seven months of hybernation; but, on
the whole, showing an average gain of a little more than one ounce in the
year—the average gain of weight per month in summer working out at about
6 or 7 drachms, with an average loss in the winter months of about 4 or 5
drachms per month. This last fact scarcely agrees with Cuvier’s
statement that “during winter . . . their loss of substance amounts
almost to nothing.”
It will be noted that the foregoing table shows certain variations in the
increases and decreases of weight in the several years; also that in two
of the years there was but little change between the autumn and spring
weights—this period of stagnation occurring in both animals
simultaneously. Probably several causes for this were at work, but I
have little doubt that the variability of our English seasons is by far
the largest factor in the case; and that the variations in the gainings
and losings of the different summers and winters depend very largely upon
the special character of these seasons. Thus, when the summer months are
hot the Tortoises eat much more abundantly and constantly, and
consequently put on (or rather put inside their skeletons) much more
flesh than in colder seasons. On the contrary, a warm autumn, with the
temperature not sufficiently cold to make them go early and thoroughly to
sleep, must conduce to greater loss, or rather waste, of their flesh, for
it is well known that these animals cease to eat many weeks before they
finally retire to rest for the winter; and necessarily during this
period, especially on sunny days in which (even at this season) they are
often moderately lively and active, they are doubtless breathing and
consuming some of the material which has been stored up for winter
consumption. Whilst again, in a very mild winter or spring they will, as
is well known, frequently wake up from their dormancy, and of course, on
each such occasion will make further inroads upon their reservoir of
nutrient material.
It is therefore pretty certain that hot summers and cold winters are most
conducive to their rapid increase in size and weight; whilst of course
the contrary conditions would have an exactly opposite result.
Cetti says that the common Greek Tortoise seldom weighs above 3 lbs. My
larger one now weighs 3 lbs. 3½ ozs., and is still growing. But there is
a Tortoise now in this city which weighs as much as 6 lbs. 5 ozs. I
judge, however, from its size and form, that it may be a variety of the
common Tortoise. This creature must be not only “an old inhabitant of
this city,” but thoroughly naturalised into a British subject, as it is
known to have lived in Norwich for at least thirty years.
I have little to add to what I previously said (and to what White has
said) as to Tortoise habits and manners. These appear to be very
uniform, and to be guided by a most definite instinct; and it is very
noticeable and very remarkable how the two Tortoises will constantly both
do the very same thing at the very same time, often almost at the same
moment of time. For example, when feeding, even when apart from each
other, they will constantly suddenly leave off eating almost at the same
instant; or they will in like manner, when basking in the sun, both at
once get up and walk off to some other place; or they will both all at
once suddenly get up and march off to their evening place of shelter and
rest—and this without any definite atmospheric or other cause that is
appreciable.
Cuvier has well called the Tortoise “_un animal retournèe_,” an animal
inverted, or “turned inside out, or rather outside in.” And it is said
that the large Land Tortoise, when withdrawn into its shell, “can defy
the whole animal world except man, from whom nothing is safe.” And with
reference to this point I have observed that our Tortoises, when retiring
to rest, always take the greatest care to protect their noses and the
anterior opening of their shells. When they burrow, their head is of
course covered up by the earth. But when, as is often the case in the
warmer weather, they simply go to sleep in some sheltered place, they
habitually place their heads close against the wall, or under the
projecting roots of a tree or shrub, so as not to leave this part
exposed. I presume, therefore, that they are conscious of some
insecurity, and it would certainly appear that their heads would
otherwise be open to the attack of rats or other predaceous animals.
Professor Forbes describes the peculiar way in which he has in Greece
observed the Tortoises to do their courting, _i.e._ the method by which
the male Tortoise seeks to attract the attention of his lady-love,
namely, by repeatedly knocking his shell violently against hers. I have
noticed the same process in my own garden. Both my animals are, I
believe, males. But I have observed one of them, when in an amorous
humour, to strike the other several times in succession a sounding blow
on its shell; and this he does by suddenly withdrawing his head into his
shell, so as to be out of harm’s way, and then as suddenly throwing his
body forward by a sort of butting process against the shell of his
fellow. This proceeding causes a very considerable, and indeed,
comparatively speaking, quite a loud and resounding noise; and at first
sight these sudden and severe blows would appear to be more calculated to
cause corporeal discomfort or injury than to excite affection. These
very marked attentions are usually followed by the utterance of a quick
and soft, or almost whining cry.
I will only add that my Tortoises show an increasing familiarity and
sense of being at home as years roll on.
* * * * *
ADDENDUM.—On November 2nd, 1905, after a further interval of thirteen
years, these Tortoises had respectively attained to a weight of 4 lbs.
and half an ounce, and 3 lbs. 13½ ozs. as compared with weights of 2 lbs.
10 ozs. and 2 lbs. 5 ozs. in 1886. They are therefore still growing in
size and weight. In October of last year (1907) they weighed
respectively 4 lbs. 2½ ozs. and 4 lbs.
V.
MY CHRISTMAS GARDEN PARTY. {44}
Norwich is proverbially a City of Gardens, and many of the houses in St.
Giles’s Street, including my own, are fortunate enough to share in the
advantage of possessing one of these valuable urban appendages.
As regards the birds that frequent these gardens, the neighbourhood of
Chapel Field, with its trees and shrubs, is, or should be, an additional
attraction to them; but I am bound to say that I have not observed so
great a congregation, or so large a variety of birds, in Chapel Field
Gardens as might have been expected.
My own garden consists of a plot of grass of fair size, with one large
apple tree in its centre, a double laburnum tree close by, and with
several other trees of good size on its confines. Some of the boundary
walls are covered with ivy. In my neighbours’ gardens are also both
trees and shrubs, whilst Chapel Field is in the immediate vicinity, just
beyond my stable yard.
There is thus a considerable variety of shelter for the birds, and,
doubtless, a proportionate variety of food for them at the proper
seasons.
In ordinary years, and in average seasons, the following birds come into
my garden:—