Round the Water Trough

Uggie retires - lucky boy

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 21:42:00 +0000

I've been meaning to write about Uggie who 'stars' in the silent film The Artist for a while now, but haven't really had the hook I've needed...until now. He's going to be retired (from feature films) by his owners after he's competed for the Golden Collars canine movie awards in February. By letting Uggie grow old peacefully, rather than pushing him back into the Hollywood limelight, his trainers at the Animal Savvy agency have shown a great respect for this Jack Russell. After all, there are plenty of less scrupulous trainers who'd have kept Uggie going to cash in on his celebrity.

Compare Uggie's blessed life - his favourite food is sausages and he's going to retire in the Los Angeles sun next to a swimming pool - with other less fortunate canine entertainers in London, c.1850. Mayhew, the chronicler of London's poor and downcast, interviewed an ‘old, ill and poor Italian’ who owned three dancing dogs. Originally, he had arrived from Palma with ten dogs, but over the years they had died - it's unclear how they died, but you can be sure it wasn't just from old age. Mayhew reports that the Italian was kind to his animals, but, through necessity, he had to make them work hard on the streets to earn a living. He dressed them in jackets and hats and he played music while they danced, jumped over sticks and through hoops. These dogs performed from 9am to 7-8pm, dancing between 20-40 times a day; and for all this effort the performances were rewarded with only two or three shillings, and sometimes nothing at all. It was a dog's life...

(Images: Uggie image from the NME website and (right) Charles Wood and his dancing dog, 1815, from John Thomas Smith's Vagabondiana from Spitalsfield Life blog)

Humanimals Season

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 12:23:00 +0000

Just stumbled across this series of exhibitions at UCL Grant Museum of Zoology. Of particular interest in the Humanimals Season is the 'Art by Animals' show - can animals paint and transfer thoughts and emotions to the canvas, or is the 'art' just a load of squiggles? I'm not sure; although I can believe that the animals are enjoying the physical process of daubing paint and seeing the result. I have a three year old son and his painting, at the moment, consists of smearing loads of paint on and turning whatever he WAS doing into a brown mess - so perhaps these animals really are choosing where to place their paints....we will never know, I shouldn't think.

(Image: Digital Master by a chimpanzee; taken from www.culture24.org.uk)

Emotional Life of Cows

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Thu, 07 Jul 2011 09:07:00 +0000

I haven't been around for ages....another good excuse, though - another baby (gorgeous girl called Freya). So bit of a shock to the system when I got an email asking me to write a piece for the 'Comment is Free' Guardian website on the emotional life of cows! I haven't written about cows for ages - so inbetween feeds late at night I got the grey matter in gear again and tapped something out. In the cold light of day, it doesn't read too badly. Nice to be back writing again.

'Free Dog Food' - What Dog Wouldn't?

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 19:12:00 +0000

My quite-grown-up-now black lab (who is two-and-a-half-years old) has finally decided that larking about madly and upsetting everyone, and everything, is a juvenile pastime. She has aged quietly over the last few months - perhaps the spaying helped? - and has taken her new family member (Cameron - 17 months) in her stride. He is totally besotted by her and will hug and kiss her given the opportunity; however, Duffy is not so keen on his attentions and tends to move away rapidly if she even hears the slightest toddler advance. Mind you, she will share her stick with him when the sun is shining (see below).

So good is Duffy now (except when I repeatedly, and ineffectually, call her back when she's on the scent of something sooooo interesting), that when I was asked by Burgess to try a large pack of dog food for free (well, in return for a review), how could I resist, on Duffy's behalf?

The food duly arrived - Supadog's Beef Casserole. I have to say that I was extremely happy with the food Duffy was already eating - Burns' Adult Food - but I was not so happy with its price tag (at c.£23 for 7.5kg, which lasted just under 2 weeks). Duffers is not a fussy dog, it has to be said, but she has wolfed down the pieces of beef (or large and small chunks of gristle/fat/non-descript) in the Beef Casserole, which are added to the biscuit-looking dry feed. After the chunks, she laps up the gravy, which appears when hot water is added to the feed. Lastly, there's the biscuit part, which has some rather ominous bright red and green specks in it which appear when it's soaked. So, Duffy loves this casserole dish. And I love it for the price - she's eating half of what is recommended as she put on loads of weight when I gave her the full amount. Not only is she eating a very small portion (compared with her Burns food), but a 12.5kg bag costs just over £25; so I'm quids in.

However, there's one problem. Duffy's coat is one of her best assets - in Scotland, her Granny says she has a beautiful 'Jacket' - but she's been on Supadog for about three weeks now and her Jacket is decidedly scruffy: quite a bit duller (the pic above shows her with a bright coat), and she's got some dandruff. I've added some vegetable oil to her feeds (she's still fed twice a day) for the last few days and I can't yet comment on whether this is helping her coat back to its full glory. So here's the rub: does her downturn in coat condition indicate that the extra cost of the previous feed is worth paying? I don't know as yet, but I'm going to finish the bag Burgess sent us, and keep up with the oil...the Budget is out tomorrow and I maybe counting my pennies very closely!

N.B UPDATE: Duffy's coat is again beautiful - perhaps she was just going through a moult - and I have recommended others to the food...

I'm quite interested in the power of this blog-review-advertising (or Social Media) that Burgess have adopted - have any other bloggers been asked to review items? Perhaps I should do it with my books. I've had reviews in the LA Times and Newsday in the US last week for MILK, but perhaps this is another avenue...I've just seen this site; they pay you to review...can't be bad.

MILK published

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Thu, 06 May 2010 09:39:00 +0000

Such a long time since I last posted...but I have been busy. And here's one piece of proof. My book MILK for Reaktion's Edible Series was published at the end of April. I wrote it while pregnant with my son, who is now 16 months old, so you can see that the process of book researching, writing, finding illustrations, writing captions, editing and indexing is a drawn out affair - but mostly enjoyable; especially when you receive your authors' copies in the post, with your name emblazoned on the dust cover. What a special moment that is.

Here's the MILK jacket blurb:

Milk, poured over cereal in the morning and splashed in coffee, is part of daily life in the West. Though wordwide demand for milk is growing every year, the majority of the world's population cannot digest raw cow's milk. Of those that do drink milk regularly, most have never actually tasted raw milk; what is known as milk today is a heavily treated version far removed form its natural state.

In Milk, Hannah Velten explores the myths and misconceptions surrounding the ubiquitous drink. Modern milk processing produces a safe, clean beverage that is very different from pure milk straight from the cow. Nonetheless, there are many advocates of raw milk that long for the days before pasteurization, homogenization, and standardization. Yet milk in the time before these scientific processes was even less natural than today—known then as the 'white poison', it was bacteria-ridden, mixed with additives to make it look like milk after the cream was removed, filled with chemicals to promote its shelf life, and extremely watered down.
Now that milk is considered a staple of a healthy and balanced diet, Velten investigates how and why conceptions of milk have shifted in the public consciousness, from the science of nutrition to the dairy industry’s advertising campaigns. This highly illustrated exploration of one of the most fundamental foods and drinks also includes recipes for ice-cream, milkshakes, and even milk paint. Milk will surprise and entertain in equal measure.

The moment of unwrapping your newly published book is so special, in fact, that I have found renewed vigour for the book I'm currently writing (when Cameron is asleep) - a history of animals in London. I'm on to the blood sports chapter now and it's grizzly reading for the most part - bear-baiting, bull-baiting, cock-fighting, dog-fights, rat-killing, pigeon shooting, etc. But I keep thinking that if I don't write this history and fail to show how Londoners used to regard and treat animals, then the animals' lives will somehow have been wasted - at least a nod of recognition to their past brutal treatment will bring animals out of the shadows and highlight the important role they played in entertaining the lower, and upper, classes of London.

I'm also getting married in June, so it's chaos in my brain! Luckily, I can sit down at the computer and switch in to 'writing mode'; otherwise I'd be in trouble as I have a November deadline for the Beastly London book....argh!

Reason for my absence...

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Sun, 19 Apr 2009 16:21:00 +0000

Blimey...it's been months since I last wrote, but I do have a very good excuse - I had a baby! He's called Cameron and is a complete darling - but time consuming, in the nicest possible way.

I had a chance to catch up on some reading during my one week off before giving birth (he was two weeks early, so that put a stop to lounging around on the sofa reading the pile of animal related books I'd saved up). And I would recommend them all...

Unlike Watership Down, which I never got into, these tales told by animals had me gripped:

Mrs Chippy's Last Expedition by Caroline Alexander

This is a fictionalised account of the life and times of Mrs Chippy (who was actually a Mr), the cat who travelled on Shackleton's Polar expedition on the Endurance in the early 1900's and who was stranded in the polar ice fields along with the remaining 28 crew members. Although I'm not a particular lover of cats, Mrs Chippy is an entertaining narrator who makes light of the obvious hardships the expedition encountered (these are chronicled in the footnotes) - she/he takes delight in antagonising the dogs and likes to keep a check on the rodent population as part of her daily routine. I don't want to spoil the ending, but you may need a packet of Kleenex... (mind you, I was very hormonal reading this!)

War Horse by Michael Morpurgo

This book was recommended to me by lots of people - yes, a childrens' book, but Joey (the farm horse turned eventual war veteran) has a wonderful 'voice' and tells of the horrors of the First World War from a unique vantage point. Also a tear-jerker... (I really WAS hormonal!!)

Finally: Giraffe by J.M. Ledgard

Not strictly a tale told by a giraffe, but Snehurka (meaning 'Snow White' in Czech) begins the story by telling of her capture in Africa and shipment to a Czech zoo in 1971. This true story tells of the fate of Snehurka and 48 others - I won't spoil the tale, but its magical and philosophical too, and sprinkled with facts about giraffes, such as there are three different types of giraffes, how they cope with the heat of an African summer and how they manage to bend down to drink without collapsing - intriguing stuff, and another heart-wrencher...(perhaps there's a theme here: animal narrator = tear-jerker?!)

So, now I have returned to life once again...has anyone got any book suggestions for me?

[I'm back to work (sort of) and have just handed in my manuscript for MILK - a cultural history of this food/drink as part of the EDIBLE series by Reaktion Books. What a controversial substance it is...]

In Praise of the Pig

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 10:43:00 +0000

A small(ish) wallow in pigginess follows (I know that many of you are pig fans)...

I've finally got round to re-reading The English Pig: A History by Robert Malcolmson and Stephanos Mastoris (2001) and several sections made me feel nostalgic for my childhood growing up in close proximity to pigs and also when I worked on an outdoor pig unit in Hampshire. Pigs have to be my favourite domestic animal - with cows as a very close second (obviously!) - and when I worked at Farmers Weekly I always covered the piggy topics.

What struck me about The English Pig was the close relationship depicted between the country dwellers and their prize pig, which provided them with meat, lard and 'everything but the squeal' during the year and also provided a method of non-fiscal payment for services, such as the shoemakers' or grocers' bill. Unlike commercial pig farming, this keeping of only one pig allowed owners and animals to develop close bonds - which only a lucky few still experience today, such as my neighbours who bought two weaners in the spring and kept them in their garden, feeding them on garden/kitchen waste, until they were taken to slaughter about a month ago. They are now eating their pigs - and they did name them; Sage and Onion.

One passage in the book describes the pigs which were kept in the Forest of Dean in Gloucestershire, a coal-mining district:

Pigs were regarded practically as neighbours. They had their own little stone dwellings alongside the cottages, and were christened with pretty names like Rosie, Sukey, or Ginny. Knots of men leaned over the pigs' gates to drool over the plump succulent charmers in the pens. A weary, coal-grimed man would stop for a slap and tickle with the pig before going indoors from work, answering her welcoming squeals and grunts with his own brand of piggy endearments.

(above: Farmyard with Pigs - Sir Alfred James Munnings - date unknown)

On a more practical note, given the value of the pig as an investment and its importance to a family's security, it was disastrous if the pig got sick and died. So from the 1860s the 'pig club' emerged which was designed to insure each pig-keeper against the loss of his/her pig(s) - it was a kind of cooperative society for the mutual insurance of pigs. A cottager or smallholder paid an entrance fee to join the club and if their pig died they would be financially compensated by the club, usually to the tune of at least three-quarters of the pig's market value.

The life of these cottage pigs was generally very pleasant - they were there to fatten and as such they could be as lazy as they wished and were fed regularly on the best foods their owners could afford. The only blot in their lives (and this was only for those pigs able to roam over meadows and crop land) was the necessity of having their noses skewered with an iron ring, to prevent them from digging up the ground. This operation was usually done by the village blacksmith and caused the pig to launch a volley of blood-curdling squeals...not surprisingly. In a rare appearance as the subject in poetry, the pig was derided by Robert Southey for making a fuss during nose ringing:

Ode, to a Pig, While His Nose Was Boring (1799)

HARK! hark! that Pig - that Pig! the hideous note,
More loud, more dissonant, each moment grows -
Would one not think the knife was in his throat?
And yet they're only boring thro' his nose.

Thou foolish beast, so rudely to withstand
Thy master's will, to feel such idle fears!
Why, Pig, there's not a Lady in the land
Who has not also bor'd and ring'd her ears.

Pig! 'tis your master's pleasure - then be still,
And hold your nose to let the iron thro' -
Dare you resist your lawful Sov'reign's will?
Rebellious swine! you know not what you do!

To man o'er ev'ry beast the pow'r was giv'n,
Pig, hear the truth, and never murmur more!
Would you rebel against the will of Heav'n?
Thou impious beast, be still, and let them bore!

The social Pig resigns his natural rights
When first with man he covenants to live;
He barters them for safer stye delights,
For grains and wash, which man alone can give.

Sure is provision on the social plan,
Secure the comforts that to each belong.
Oh, happy Swine! th' impartial sway of man
Alike protects the weak Pig and the strong.

And you resist! you struggle now because
Your master has thought fit to bore your nose!
You grunt in flat rebellion to the laws
Society finds needful to impose!

Go to the forest, Piggy, and deplore
The miserable lot of savage swine!
See how the young Pigs fly from the great boar,
And see how coarse and scantily they dine!

Behold their hourly danger, when who will
May hunt or snare and seize them for his food!
Oh, happy Pig! whom none presumes to kill
Till your protecting master thinks it good!

And when, at last, the closing hour of life
Arrives (for Pigs must die as well as Man)
When in your throat you feel the long sharp knife,
And the blood trickles to the under pan;

And, when at last, the death wound yawning wide,
Fainter and fainter grows th' expiring cry,
Is there no grateful joy, no loyal pride,
To think that for your master's good you die!

(above: The Morning Meal - Robert McGregor - 20th century)

Sorry...perhaps that poem was a little off-beat with the generally 'cosy' attitude of this post, but to end...there were some owners who couldn't bear to part with their pigs and kept them mainly as pets (although, admittedly these were few and far between). George Eliot, in her Scenes of Clerical Life (1857), Chapter One, imagined one of these 'friendships' between a cottage woman, Dame Fripp, and her pig:

Such was Dame Fripp, whom Mr Gilfil, riding leisurely in top-boots and spurs from doing duty at Knebley one warm Sunday afternoon, observed sitting in the dry ditch near her cottage, and by her side a large pig, who with that ease and confidence belonging to perfect friendship, was lying with his head in her lap, and making no effort to play the agreeable beyond an occasional grunt.

'Why, Mistress Fripp,' said the Vicar, 'I didn't know you had such a fine pig. You'll have some rare flitches [sides of salted and cured bacon] at Christmas!'

'Eh, God forbid! My son gev him me two ear ago, an' he's been company to me iver sin'. I coundn't find i' my heart to part wi'm, if I niver knowed the taste o' bacon-fat again.'

'Why, he'll heat his head off, and yours too. How can you go on keeping a pig, and making nothing by him?'

'O, he picks a bit hisself wi' rootin', and I dooant mind doin' wi'out to gie him summat. A bit o' coompany's meat an' drink too, an' he follers me about, an' grunts when I spake to'm, just like a Christian.'

Mr Gilfil laughed, and I am obliged to admit that he said good-by to Dame Fripp without asking her why she had not been to church, or making the slightest effort for her spiritual edification.

(above: Ecstasy - Sidney Curnow Vosper - 1940)

And finally...there are another two piggy books in my library which I've enjoyed:

The Whole Hog: Exploring the Extraordinary Potential of Pigs - Lyall Watson (sadly now deceased, but a naturalist who at the age of four 'adopted' an orphaned warthog called Hoover in Africa and had a life-long love of wild, and domesticated, pigs).
And a lavishly illustrated celebration of all things porcine: The Ubiquitous Pig - Marlyn Nissenson and Susan Jonas.
Just before I go, there is also a wonderful piggy website which I found a few years ago and it is THE place for pig-lovers to visit: Porkopolis

P.S: Thanks to ChrisH for this link - a timely reminder to always buy British pork/bacon products, rather than those from Denmark because of the high welfare standards of British pig producers...'Welfare doesn't come into it'

Beastly London

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 17:26:00 +0000

Bit of good news to tell you today....I've signed my third non-fiction book deal (yipee!) and yes, surprise surprise, it's about animals (double yipee!). To be precise, the history of animals in London, hence the title 'Beastly London' (clever, hey?!).

I'm going to cover domestic animals, exotic animals, pet animals, animals of the Thames, animals in science, entertaining animals, sporting animals, working animals and pests and scavengers. Each chapter will begin with a London landmark associated with the particular category of animal (e.g. the Tower of London for the exotics) and then, like a spider's web, the narrative will travel all over London unearthing the animal history from Medieval to present times. The book will be highly illustrated in hardback and paperback, but....you'll have to wait until early 2011! I've got to have my baby in the meantime, as well as finish my cultural history of MILK book, but I can't wait to get started!

So, if anyone knows of any little-known gems of information about animals in London, please drop me a line and you'll get a credit - or if anyone has any images of animals in London, they will be equally useful (and you'll get a credit). For instance, there's a pub in Covent Garden which has a very wide entrance and circus elephants were once quartered there...stuff like that is what I'm after.

Writing a Synopsis for Beastly

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 12:28:00 +0000

Right, I have the morning to write an introduction to my Beastly London synopsis - so I'd better get on with it.

I want to write this book because of the many interesting and astonishing tales which I've unearthed since reading around the subject. And I've had to dig for animal stories, because although animals have been in London, and played a huge role in creating the London we know today, they are virtually invisibile in written histories of London. They were so common at one time (mainly horses) that they have blended into the background.

I want to bring these animals back to life - to uncover and tell about their lives so that anyone in London, either living, working or visiting will be able to imagine the streets teeming with animals and also seeing animals in places which are now everyday sights - such as the wild animal emporium in the Strand which is now a hotel.

I discovered a whimsical website called Animals on the Underground which shows animal shapes found in the London Underground tube map, such as a whale, a pig and a deer. So where were the real animals to be found in London? On my next trip up to London I noted all the pigeons which were swamping the area around Bloomsbury, but no other sign of wildlife. Then talking to Laura, my agent, while I was in Bloomsbury she told me about her husband once herded sheep over London Bridge during a guild ceremony - my research began. I discovered a hidden side to London history, where man and animal lived, died, and worked, side by side in London.

The financial, social and cultural history of London cannot, in my opinion, be adequately explained without looking at the role which animals played in contributing to the life of the City. And yet no book has exclusively covered these animals - they need to be bought from the teeming shadows out into the spotlight. From Medieval times to the present, animals have fed Londoners, transported Londoners, provided Londoners with sport, acted as companions, frightened Londoners and entertained them - surely, these animals deserve to be recognised.

The ebb and flow of animals in and out of the City of London to feed Londoners, to entertain them, to keep them company and to provide them with sport. But as London grew and ideas about hygiene and animal welfare gathered pace, animals were pushed out of Londoners lives. But their spirits survive and London is full of statues, memorials and architectural features dedicated to the memory of the animals of London.

The animal life that swarmed freely through London, and round about the surrounding countryside (now the London suburbs).

It is only recently, due to sanitization, railways and urbanisation that animals have been shoved to the outskirts of London’s sprawl. Londoners no longer share their lives, and their streets, with animals as previous City dwellers have done.

However, there are still plenty of animals left in London, you just need to know where to look. By providing maps of London dedicated to differing aspects of animal and man's co-existence, I hope to bring the spirit of animals past, back into modern Londoners (and visitors) awareness. To allow them to imagine the sights of animals teeming in the streets, and specific places, to hear their calls and smell their presence. Whole industries grew up around animals, and animals were connected to Londoners - most Londoners and visitors to London have now lost this bond, and even the knowledge that a connection existed in the first place.

I would also like to make Londoners aware of the plight of London animals, especially because now we have such an awareness of animal rights and welfare. The book, I suppose, is almost a tribute, and a recognition, of the animals which shaped the financial, cultural and social history of London.

And why should I be the one to write this history of animals? Well, I have the passion, knowledge and ability to bring these animals to life for Londoners and visitors to London. Hopefully, you will see from my previous book, COW, and my blog postings that I can write engagingly about the historical relationship between animals and man - with a certain amount of authority, as well. There are also animal stories which are still current in London that I would like to address: such as the hide of Blossom (the cow which 'gave' Edward Jenner the inoculations of cowpox that were used to create a vaccine against smallpox) which hangs forlornly in the medical school library at St George's University of London - it is a very fragile state and likely to be lost unless preservation work is carried out to save this important 'animal' to British medical science.

By concentrating on 'place', it is easy to weave a web of animal life emanating from a few specific centres of animal activity: from individual animals to herds of animals, and from surprising anecdotes to generalisations about the treatment of animals.

Most of the main 'places' are well-known tourist attractions today, or at least once important historical institutions so will be of wide interest to visitors of London.

A World Without Cows

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 09:26:00 +0000

I cut my teeth on radio last week - quite a surreal experience being shut in a tiny soundproof booth with a presenter (Fred Dove) and a microphone in front of you, and a view through a window looking at the sound recordist. And that 'On-Air' light unnervingly glowing. We talked for 1.5 hours and my contribution to the 23-minute edited show was about 4 mins at the most, although a lot of what I said was precised by the presenter through out the show. Enlightening, shall we say, to the ways of documentary making.

The topic...well, a World Without Cows. At last, cows are becoming mainstream! Well, nearly. The programme was for BBC World Service so I (along with about five others) was asked to talk about human's relationship with cattle through history on a global scale. A huge subject....and one which I covered in my book, COW.

Imagine a world without cows. I just couldn't. You can listen to the documentary here: A World Without Cows (Pic on the right is of Blossom the Cow - as featured in the show)

N.B. Fred mis-spells my name (it's Velten, not Felten)...oh well.

'Bump' so far...

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 11:49:00 +0000

N.B. My self-indulgence in this post is purely for reasons of expected memory failure at a later time, when pregnancy is a distant dream. I want to remember these early months with affection - luckily, they've been rather pleasant!

So, please indulge me....as I write to 'Bump', who is rapidly becoming 'Bulge'.

What I know about you so far: I first knew you were around when I kept getting an itchy back when I was having a shower and every so often my legs would turn to jelly and I'd feel like I was about to fall over - don't ask me why, but they were the first signs that I was pregnant with you. Then my stomach started to bulge, my fingernails grew really strong, my underarm hair almost stopped growing (maybe too much information) and acid reflux kicked in.

Dad and I first met you on 15th July 2008 when you appeared on the scanner monitor upside down with your bottom (and the back of your legs) facing towards us - you wouldn't turn around so I had to get up and go for a walk. On the second time of trying, we caught sight of you...what a moment that was!

It was wonderful to know that you'd made it to 3 months, because I couldn't feel you at that time, so I just had to hope that you were still there. Even when I went to the midwife on 19th August to listen to your heartbeat (which was very fast and very strong), I still hadn't felt you move - by the way, I recorded your heartbeat onto an MP3 player, so Dad could hear it, but then Duffy went and ate the headphones....I'll transfer it onto computer one of these days.

But you did start making your presence felt by week 19, when you started to squirm. And by week 20 you were definitely kicking and punching, so much so that Dad could feel you move too. The most I've felt you kick was: a) when I was lying in the dentist's chair having a check-up and you moved so violently that I shouted out; b) when I was lying in the bath and you made little ripples in the water with your movements; c) when I was on the train/underground on the way to spend a day in the British Library in London; d) and when Mum (your Granny Velten) and I went to the opera at the Royal Opera House - you loved the voice of the lead lady!

We saw you again during the second scan (on 22nd September). You were lying on your tummy a lot of the time, and then flippped over into this pose - your feet are over your head (we think you'll be a footballer, swimmer or gymnast!):

During the scan, the midwife let it slip (by using a pronoun) what sex you are (even though Dad and I wanted it to be a surprise!). We've told no-one, and have decided that she may be wrong - so we may well still be surprised. The midwife measured you as one foot long, and also told us that you have some fluid in one of your kidneys, so I'm having another scan in a few months' time - they think it's just caused by my hormones and that it'll have cleared up by December. We'll see you again then....

...But, that's about all we know of you at the moment: you've been a joy to have around so far (you only made me feel ill for 3 weeks) and I'm hoping that everything will be well with you until January when we'll all get to meet you face-to -face. We can't wait. In the meantime, keep wriggling...xxx

Friday's Art Spot

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Fri, 12 Sep 2008 09:14:00 +0000

It's Friday and I'm browsing the net....
apart from finding an article on 'horse nappies' (why on earth should the horses of Blackpool be fitted with dung catchers, I have no idea. How pathetic; it's only churned up grass and cereals for goodness sake), I found these images. What the connection between them...? There's a clue in the last image.

Well...the connection is (surprise, surprise) animal artists. But they aren't all done by dogs - although the last one is: Sammy the Foxhound (below).

The second is done by a chimp and the first is done by this wee fellow: Pinto the Yucatan miniature pig.

Pinto 'creating':

What a mess - but then again; better than some human-created art???

Newes from the Dead

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Wed, 20 Aug 2008 10:51:00 +0000

On one of my forays to The British Library last year (the first time I'd ventured into the Rare Books section), I transcribed a short book written in Oxford, 1651, entitled 'Newes from the Dead'. It was written by 'an Oxford Scholar for the satisfaction of a friend, who desired to be informed concerning the truth of the business'. So, what was this 'business'?

Unusually for me, it has nothing to do with animals, but the true story of a young girl called Anne Green who was hung for infanticide is connected to a surgeon, William Petty, who researched animal anatomy and physiology - hence, how I found her tale.

The tale begins in the house of Sir Thomas Read at Duns-Tew (c.20 miles from Oxford), where Anne Green (a servant of 22 years of age) was seduced by Sir Read's 16-17 years old grandson (Mr Jeffery Read). Anne fell pregnant and delivered a boy child, which, according to the prosecution, she murdered and buried to conceal her shame. On finding the baby's body, Anne was rushed before the Justices of the Peace in Oxford and was sent to Oxford Goal. She spent a terrifying 3 weeks in the goal before being hauled before the Sessions to be arraigned, condemned and taken to her death on Sat 14 December.

On the platform, with the noose around her neck, she pleaded her innocence and spoke out against the 'lewdness' of the Read family. But...'she was turned off the ladder, hanging by the neck for almost half an hour, some of her friends in the meantime thumping her on the breast, others hanging with all their weight upon her legs, sometimes lifting her up and then pulling down again with a sudden jerk, thereby the sooner to dispatch her out of her pain, in so much that the Under-Sheriff fearing lest they should break the rope forbade them to do so any longer'.

After everyone was sure she was dead, her body was taken in a coffin to a private house where some physicians were going to dissect her; 'to improve their knowledge in the dissection of a Dead body'. But when the coffin was opened, Anne took a breath and emitted a 'rattle' in her throat. A burly onlooker immediately jumped on Anne's body to finish her off properly and rid her of her pain, but Anne had other ideas.

Dr William Petty and Mr Thomas Willis arrived to see Anne and decided that they should try and save her. The methods used to 'revive' her cover many pages: 'an heating, odoriferous Clyster to be cast up in her body, to give warmth and heat to her bowels', 'tickling her throat with a feather', 'letting her blood (5oz)', 'rubbing her in several places, caused ligatures to be made in her arms and legs'. She survived (despite their methods) and, rather kindly, the JPs decided to grant her a reprieve because God had preserved her.

Anne was able to speak the following day (15th) and complained (not unsurprisingly) of a sore throat, chest and stomach. The next day, the physicians asked Anne what she could remember of her ordeal...'after she put off some of her clothes, bequeathing them to her Mother (which was early in the morning before the execution) and heard someone say that one of the prisoners was let out of the chain to put her to death, she remembered nothing at all that had been done to her; and that she knew not when her fetters were knocked off, or how she came out of prison, or that she had been upon the Gallows, neither could she remember that any Psalm had been sung, or that she said anything there...'

By the 19th December, Anne was out of bed and eating roast chicken. A few days later, she took her coffin with her ('a trophy of this her wonderful preservation') and returned home to the country. But within the space of a month, she'd returned to the private house in Oxford 'to the satisfaction of multitudes that flocked thither daily to see her.' Anne was such a miracle, that people eventually paid to visit her; thus discharging all her medical expenses, board and lodgings, with some money left over for 'the suing out of her Pardon'.

The facts of the case were also soon revealed: Anne's baby had been miscarried/stillborn at about 17 weeks - not murdered - and she had not known she was pregnant until 'it fell from her as a lump of flesh, rather than a well and duly formed infant'. It also became known that Sir Thomas Read had died within 3 days of her execution, and did not know of her revival.

I was only reminded of Anne's story today when I read a review for Mary Hooper's Newes from the Dead. Another book which uses Annes' experiences is Iain Pears' An Instance of the Fingerpost. Funny; the things I uncover....

Duffy Update

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 14:40:00 +0000

My beautiful 'baby' is now 5 months old - seen here at the front; with her friends, Molly and Meg.

She loves being 'in the thick of things', swimming in clean or dirty water (no preference), her 'duck', her 'ball on a string', Rich Tea biscuits and Marmite sandwiches (see below), sitting on my feet, playing with May/Beckham/Bonnie/Pipkin on the playing field, chasing rabbits on Chailey Common, eating sheep/horse/cow/rabbit shyte, saying 'hello' to everyone, her new comfy (but huge - she WILL grow into it) bed, having a bath (under the shower in the bathroom) and ME (rather obviously).

She hates being left out of whatever's going on, the dairyman on the farm (for some reason, she won't go near him), barking dogs that she can't see, the rain....that's about it. She's not bothered by thunderstorms.

The bad/cheeky things she's done:

1) Escaped over the netting in the garden 3 times, despite it being blocked up like Robin Island - once being returned by a neighbour, another time by a passing motorist, and this morning she threw herself against the front door to let me know she wanted to come in.

2) Ate all the cucumber plants in the greenhouse.

3) Repeatedly stole my Rich Tea biscuits and my Marmite sandwiches which I was eating to combat my morning (evening) sickness. Oh, yes, forgot to say that I'm pregnant...(4 months next week).

4) Sucked my beautiful green suede shoes till they were dripping with drool - they shrunk when they dried out. Could have been worse though; she could have chewed them to pieces!

5) Jumping into my parents' big fish pond at the weekend and refusing to come out - meanwhile, destroying lilies, fish and the planted banks - ops!

The lovely/good things she's done/does:

1) Keeping me company in the toilet - she barges in, so we both sit and have a 'chin-wag'.

2) Leaning against my legs when I'm talking to someone in the street.

3) Being very friendly to all dogs/children/adults.

4) Coming back when she's called (most of the time).

5) Just being Duffy...

And she's a terrble guard dog - never barks at anyone...although she does 'talk back' if she's not allowed to do something she wants to do, e.g. eat my Rich Tea biscuits.

So, there you go - an update on my current 'baby'...bless her.

Bird phobias anyone?

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 10:42:00 +0000

I can't understand people being scared of spiders - it drives me mad when anyone shrieks and hurtles into the room crying about an 'ENORMOUS SPIDER' they've found in the toilet/in the bath/on the wall (delete as appropriate). I think you only have to look at the parent's reactions to spiders to see why a child would act in such a ridiculous manner - I mean what harm can spiders do to them...? (that should provoke some debate!)

Anyway, the point of this post is to let you know why I CAN understand people having a phobia of birds. I'm scared to stupid proportions when I come across a couple of bird species, and I have good reason to be: let's start with geese...

When I was young (living on the farm) we had two geese (goose and gander) living in our orchard. They were fenced in and, at first, I thought they were harmless - although they did hissssss a lot if you went near. Then one day, my brother and I were standing at the wire gate watching Mum walk across to their hutch to replace the straw bedding, and to check on the progress of their eggs, which were about to hatch. Goose and gander were at the other end of the orchard - on my youthful reckoning, about 25m away. Mum bent down at the entrance to their hutch and moved in, leaving her bottom sticking out.

'Hey, look, the geese are looking at Mummy's bottom,' giggled Christian (you can see where this is going, can't you?)

I turned to see both geese, indeed, looking towards their hutch. They had their long necks up and were in defence posture.

'Errr...Mummy, the geese are looking at you,' I shouted. I must have known that this wasn't funny. But Mum just carried on with her mucking out and bedding up.

Then, just like in the cartoons of Road Runner, the geese hurtled toward the upturned bottom that was 'attacking' their eggs - necks out, wings flapping, honking and hissing. It was absolutely terrifying to watch. Christian had stopped giggling and we were now both screaming to Mum to get out of the way. But the geese were too quick. I can clearly remember the goose sinking her beak into Mum's bottom - Mum screamed and must have hit her head on the inside of the hutch. She later told us that it was like a pair of pliers being applied.

I can't remember how Mum escaped, but it could have had something to do with Dad leaping over the wall from the pigpens when he heard all the commotion. Needless to say, I have a totally rational fear of geese and won't walk past them ever - I've even retraced my steps on a long walk before, because they were out patrolling on a footpath.

So, on to my second rational bird fear: peacocks. When we left the farm, for some reason we inherited, or bought (I can't remember) some peacocks for our new house. They were small, fluffy and fairly non-descript things. None of them had tail feathers and they scratched around during the day and flew up into the rafters in one of the stables at night. Then one day, one of them started to follow me around - not in a nice, sort of doggy way, but in a nasty, stalker sort of way.

We had two ponies then (Bilbo Baggins and Mystique) who were stabled at night, so early in the morning before school I would feed them, put them out in the field and start mucking out their stables. Dad would let the peacocks out (I'm sure he did it on purpose)....I would hear the scrabble of claws and a clucking noise as this peacock came to seek me out. It would stick its head around the door and give me a glare with it beady eye (makes me feel queasy even writing about it). I would run, with my pitchfork, to the stable door and slam it shut. Peacock would jump up on the door. I would poke at peacock with pitchfork and shout. Peacock would remain on door, still glaring. Eventually, Dad (laughing loudly) would rescue me from the birdbrain peacock.

However, sometimes it would sneak up on me without warning. Now you might think that a growing peacock is not dangerous...but I tell you, this one was manic. It would jump on my back, or at any part of my body, with its talons fully bared. We could never work out why it did this - only to me; it ignored everyone else. Mum said it must have liked me and wanted to be my friend - yeah, right! It used to chase me all around the garden, if it could. We called it 'Dotty' (although it should have been 'Deranged'), thinking it was a female. But after about a year of living in fear of this blurdy bird, it started to sprout glorious tail feathers - it was male and ended up with the most magnificent plumage, which it would show to me....perhaps it fancied me?!

Anyway, we moved again and I swore that if the peacock came with us, I would leave home (I was about 16 then, so it was a plausible threat). Luckily for me, Mum advertised the three peacocks - the others were perfectly lovely - in the local rag....and some poor, unsuspecting woman turned up and took them away. I felt momentarily guilty about passing Dotty (now named Damian) on to her, but perhaps she wasn't his type...

And I swear peacocks can now smell my fear: last year up at Scone Palace in Perth, Scotland a blurdy white peacock chased me around the grounds - what is it with me and peacocks...? And I have an aversion to chickens pecking at my feet and a fear of being mobbed by pigeons and seagulls - arghhh. But otherwise I love birds and was quite happy to remove a robin that had flown into the kitchen this spring.

My question to you - has anyone else got a 'rational' fear of any animal(s)? And what is it about spiders - please enlighten me....

Fiesta!

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Mon, 07 Jul 2008 11:11:00 +0000

It's that time of year again when the Spanish town of Pamplona goes bull-crazy. The Running of the Bulls during the Fiesta da San Fermin (7-14 July) is mentioned in accounts of the festival from the 17th cenury onwards, when the moving of the bulls from their corrals to the bullring (where they fight in the afternoons) became part of the entertainment - there wouldn't be a fiesta in Spain without the obligatory bull fight, or twenty!

Volunteers who wish to run with the bulls wear red bandanas or scarves round their necks, and the 'bravest' souls carry a rolled-up newspaper, which is nicknamed the Pamplona Badge of Honour. It indicates their intention to get closest to the bull, and if they are unable to touch the bull with their 'badge' they feel their honour is lost.

If all goes smoothly, the bull run (which happens at 8am each day during the fiesta, and covers 825 metres through the cobbled streets of the town) lasts two or three minutes, but sometimes one of the six running bulls (each weighing about 700kg) becomes separated from the pack and becomes confused, swings round, tosses his head, and furiously attacks anyone in his way. Ernest Hemingway in his novel The Sun Also Rises (1926), originally titled Fiesta, describes the goring to death of one of the runners:

I saw the bulls just coming out of the street into the long running pen. They were going fast and gaining on the crowd. Just then another drunk started out from the fence with a blouse in his hands. He wanted to do cape-work with the bulls. The two policemen tore out, collared him, one hit him with a club, and they dragged him against the fence and stood flattened out against the fence as the last of the crowd and the bulls went by. There were so many people running ahead of the bulls that the mass thickened and slowed up going through the gate into the ring, and as the bulls passed, galloping together, heavy, muddy-sided, horns swinging, one shot ahead, caught a man in the running crowd in the back and lifted him in the air. Both the man's arms were by his sides, his head went back as the horns went in, and the bull lifted him and then dropped him. The bull picked another man running in front, but the man disappeared into the crowd, and the crowd was through the gate and into the ring with the bulls behind them.

Since record-keeping began in 1924, fourteen people have been killed during the Pamplona runs and over 200 gored. The last death was in 1995, when a young American was killed on the horns of a bull. This year, so far, one death has occurred, but the (Irish) man fell off a wall...drunk!

Pig pig - Hung for Murder

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 14:49:00 +0000

Not the nicest subject, I'll grant you, but one which I've come across a couple of times in the last few years...the prosecution and capital punishment of pigs in Europe in the Middle Ages.

This true story occurred in 1386 in Falaise, Normandy, France. A sow was sentenced to be 'mangled and maimed in the head and forlegs, and then to be hanged, for having torn the face and arms of a child and thus caused its death...As if to make the travesty of justice complete, the sow was dressed in man's clothes and executed on the public square near the city hall at the expense to the state of ten sous and ten deniers, besides a pair of gloves to the hangman.' (from E.P. Evans: The Criminal Prosecution and Capital Punishment of Animals).

The hangman was given gloves so that he could remain 'clean' and free from sin and the pig was clothed possibly because the courts were mocking the pig, or making it more humanlike so people would take more notice of the moral lesson of its execution.

It seems odd that the pig was afforded an elaborate trial and it also had the same rights under the law as human defendants: it was entitled to legal representation, the jailors charged it the same board as its human cellmates and witnesses were called to give evidence. And why was the pig hanged? Was it to eliminate the dangerous animal (if it had killed once, it was capable of doing it again), a deterrence to other pigs/animals and also to humans with murder in mind, or as a revenge for the killing of a human?

The case inspired a poem by Sussex poet Ted Walker (1934-2004) called 'Pig pig'. The tale is told by the pig's owner - a horse breeder who regards pigs as 'things' - and it recounts his thoughts and actions with regard to his 'sow-murderess'. The owner portrays the pig as a gluttonous, lustful, lazy, almost hateful 'beast'. But after describing the horrific injuries sustained by the young girl, the owner returns to find his suckling pig battered and chained in irons by the villagers and he feels for her: 'She lay helpless as scum/in a dungeon. They'd come and chained their prisoner./ I felt angry for her.'

The narrator is sure that the folk of the village want revenge and he decides to act out the part of the remorseful owner by being at the girl's graveside and offering his house for the wake. He even suggested the involvement of the Law and 'called upon God/ to extract blood for blood.' He finds a precedent of a bullock who was hung for murdering a child and he set about instigating a trial for his pig. But instead of the trail being done formally and soberly, the owner calls in his drinking companions to be the prosecutor and the defence and has the judge appoint him the hangman. He wants to be the hangman, rather than one of the villagers - it is after all his pig.

He knows that the trial is a complete 'farce', especially when his pig is in the dock and 'managed to drag/ her bulk up like a lag/ and lean over. Laugh!'. But they act out the trail with an air of seriousness as the village folk want revenge and he fears they will turn on him. In the end: 'The sow was found guilty/ of eating flesh on a Friday.'

However, his pity for his pig has to be hidden when he has to 'Mangle and hang' her and he lets out his blood lust in a revolting display of violence (it's stomach churning to read) - he well and truly provides a spectacle for the villagers. He concludes: 'I can die a happy man,/ knowing how justice was seen/ through me to have been done.'

This trial in Falaise wasn't an isolated case and many pigs were tried and convicted of murder (along with many other domestic animals). The illustration above is called Trial of a Sow and Pigs at Lavegny, taken from The Book of Days: A Miscellany of Popular Antiquities. It shows the trial of a sow and her piglets in 1457 for the murder and devouring of a child. The sow was convicted, but the piglets were acquitted because of their youth (difficult to make out, but the piglets are suckling the crying sow). The fact that many pigs were hauled before the secular courts shows that they must have been roaming around freely in large numbers.

More information about historical and contemporary prosecution and punishment of animals can be found at http://www.animallaw.info/journals/jo_pdf/lralvol9_p97.pdf

Beavers back in Scotland?

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Wed, 28 May 2008 16:19:00 +0000

It's been announced today that the European Beaver* will be formally reintroduced to Scotland after more than 400 years since their extinction - plans to reintroduce the European Lynx** are on currently on hold.

While most environmentalists and the public are keen to see these species returned to their rightful place in Britain's eco-system, there are strong (and powerful) voices which have reservations. And I'm wondering if these voices - the landowners and farmers - have a point...?

They argue (according to government consultation reports) that the beaver will damage the salmon fishing, spread 'beaver fever' (a giardia stomach bug), and damage the forestry and timber industry. As for the lynx, there are concerns about it damaging deer stocks and disrupting stalking (the lynx's favourite prey is roe deer) and attacking sheep and game. Perhaps the modern Scottish countryside, and economy, has no place in it for lynx and beaver?

I'm not really convinced by these arguments, but it would be horrendous to think that the same treatment metered out to birds of prey, by some, would be actioned again on these reintroduced beavers (I'm presuming here that the poisoning of a female Golden Eagle in a breeding pair last August was done to protect game, rather than someone being purely evil).

Fingers crossed for the beavers in 2009....

*The beaver (according to Current Archaeology, No. 210, pp.17-25) seems to have been still in north Yorkshire in 1789, where it was regarded as vermin. But this is not how it was viewed by our predecessors: the beaver's dams provided a very favourable environment for hunting of game, wildfowl and fish, and man seems to have use every bit of the beaver - and this led to their extinction.

For example, their incisors were made into chisels and dice and their tails into purses and pouches. But of most value were the castor sacs, hidden behind their anal glands, which the beavers used to mark out territory. For man, these intimate parts contained salicin which was a staple of medicine into the 19th century, used to relieve pain, fever and to reduce inflammatory conditions, such as arthritis and rheumatism (it was only superseded with the discovery of aspirin). Over-hunting probably lead to beavers being rare by the later Middle Ages.

(Pic: from the Aberdeen Bestiary, which was a medieval script using animals and their behaviours to impart tales of morality - the beaver was said to bite off its own testicles when hunted as a means of escape...without their castor sacs (or testicles as they were labelled) they were worthless to medieval man. The beaver doesn't look like a beaver, because it was thought they were 'fish' because of their aquatic feet and tails).

**The Lynx (according to New Scientist magazine, 11 August 2007, pp. 48-9) survived in Britain into early medieval times, with findings of bones in north Yorkshire dating from AD425-600. So it was people, rather than climate change, which killed off the lynx. Woodland clearance for pasture and arable fields eroded their woodland habitats and they were also hunted for their fur and because they probably preyed on unguarded sheep flocks.

May Bugs and a Sick Pike

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Fri, 16 May 2008 07:49:00 +0000

Duffy's been adding some extra nutrition to her puppy diet in the form of bugs and insects - not least the May Bug. Also known as the Cock Chafer, this bug sounds like a helicopter as it approaches and is confused by house lights so it bashes itself into windows with loud thuds. And when its eaten, it sounds very crunchy...I hasten to add that I did try to stop Duffy from devouring this morsel, but she's quick and determined! Other insects fare badly too; except bees which she just watches.

While looking for illustrations of May Bugs, I came across this tale in a wonderful book written in 1912...is this fact or fancy, I wonder?

THE SICK PIKE

(from Round-about Rambles in Lands of Fact and Fancy by Frank R Stockton)

There is no reason why a pike should not be sick. Everything that has life is subject to illness, but it is very seldom that any fish has the good sense and the good fortune of the pike that I am going to tell you about.

This pike was a good-sized fellow, weighing about six pounds, and he belonged to the Earl of Stamford, who lived near Durham, England. His story was read by Dr. Warwick to the Literary and Philosophical Society of Liverpool. I am particular about these authorities because this story is a little out of the common run.

Dr. Warwick was walking by a lake, in the Earl's park, and the pike was lying in the water near the shore, probably asleep. At any rate, when it saw the doctor it made a sudden dart into deep water and dashed its head against a sunken post. This accident seemed to give the fish great pain, for it pitched and tossed about in the lake, and finally rushed up to the surface and threw itself right out of the water on to the bank.

The doctor now stooped to examine it, and to his surprise the fish remained perfectly quiet in his hands. He found that the skull was fractured and one eye was injured by the violence with which the fish had struck the post. With a silver tooth-pick (he had not his instruments with him) the doctor arranged the broken portion of the pike's skull, and when the operation was completed he placed the fish in the water. For a minute or two the Pike seemed satisfied, but then it jumped out of the water on to the bank again. The doctor put the fish back, but it jumped out again, and repeated this performance several times. It seemed to know (and how, I am sure I have not the least idea) that that man was a doctor, and it did not intend to [320]leave him until it had been properly treated—just as if it was one of his best patients.

The doctor began to see that something more was expected of him, and so he called a game-keeper to him, and with his assistance he put a bandage around the pike's head.

When this surgical operation had been completed the pike was put back into the water, and this time it appeared perfectly satisfied, and swam away.

The next day, as Dr. Warwick was sitting by the lake, the pike, with, the bandage around its head, swam up and stuck its head out of the water, near the doctor's feet. The good physician took up the fish,examined the wound, and finding that it was getting on very well, replaced the bandage and put Mr. Pike into the lake again.

This was a very grateful pike. After the excellent surgical treatment it received from Dr. Warwick, it became very fond of him, and whenever he walked by the side of the lake it would swim along by him, and although it was quite shy and gloomy when other people came to the waterside, it was always glad to see the doctor, and would come when he whistled, and eat out of his hand.

I suppose in the whole ocean, and in all the rivers and lakes of the world, there are not more than two or three fish as sensible and grateful as this pike. In fact, it was very well for Dr. Warwick that there were no more such on the Earl of Stamford's estate. A large practice in the lake must soon have made a poor man of him, for I do not suppose that even that sensible pike would have paid a doctor's bill, if it had been presented to him.

A bit of a fishy tale if you ask me....

Introducing DUFFY...and my near miss with Jeremy Vine and the cattle stampede

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 09:05:00 +0000

I'm sure it wasn't like this last time I had one...no time to write, having to jump in the shower when she's asleep, walking around the garden in the rain (under an umbrella) while she 'makes a puddle', sleepless nights while she's crying (hopefully last night was the last torturous night), mopping the kitchen floor every morning....

However, she is full of cuddles (well, sort of despite the claws and teeth), smells wonderful, is terribly cute, playful and full of inquisitiveness.....

Introducing Burntcoombe Plum Duff...or Duffy for short. Hopefully, I'm going to do some gundog tests and field trials with her...watch this space.

Also (vaguely dog-related), I got a call from a researcher on the Jeremy Vine radio show this morning wondering if I would be able to comment about cattle behaviour with reference to the tragic news that a lady out walking her dogs in Suffolk had been trampled to death by a herd of cows. Unfortunately, I was due to be working, had Duffy to consider and had to get to a radio studio to do the interview - so had to pass it up. As I listened to the show it became quite apparent that there are many 'near misses' with cattle which are not reported eg. people having to throw themselves over fences to avoid being trampled. I know that I would never go into a field of suckler cattle with Duffy, but I would go into a field of dairy cattle (although not if there were calves there). However, having listened to the show I will certainly always carry a jumper or coat with me* - just in case!

*Cattle will stop short if you throw something on the ground in front of them. The other vital thing to do if you are hassled by cattle (youngstock are very inquisitive) is to confront them rather than run - shout, wave something in front of them, crouch down and then jump up shouting when they are 10 feet from you - thank you, Fennie for that tip - and generally be bold.

Washing the Lions

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 08:46:00 +0000

The first annual 'Washing of the Lions' appeared in 1698. A rumour began to circulate that the Tower lions were to be washed by their keepers in the moat on April the first, and that tickets were to be sold for the event. A few people even received personal invitations (see example above; this one is dated 1857), asking them to turn up at the 'White Gate'* and requesting that no 'Gratuity' should be given to the 'Attendants'.

Gustave Louis Maurice Strauss, in his Reminiscences of an Old Bohemian, remembers the reaction of the crowds who gathered to watch the 'Washing of the Lions' in 1848 (some of whom he had sent invitations to):

I think it was in the last days of March, 1848, that the proprietor of Chat, in conjunction with the editor and Pond, controved to perpetrate a vile hoax upon Her Majesty’s lieges. These wretched conspirators had a great number of order-cards printed, admitting “bearer and friends” to the White Tower, on the 1st day of April, to witness, if they so listed, the famous grand annual ceremony of washing the lions. I am sorry to say that I was over-easily prevailed upon to join in the distribution of these favours among friends and acquaintances.

We went to Tower Hill in the morning of the 1st of April—to watch the result. I must confess I, for one, was not prepared for the extraordinary credulity of the British Public. They flocked up in shoals to see the lions washed. The “warders” were almost at their wits’ end. They had the bits of pasteboard flourished in their faces, with angry gestures and angrier imprecations, by the indignant crowd of sight-seers and seekers. I verily believe there was a notion at one time of the day to send for reinforcements of the garrison, so threatening was the aspect of the B.P. raging at the gates of the old City fortress. In the midst of the turmoil some one spotted me to whom I had given an order of admission, and he would have set the whole mob upon me, but I most luckily succeeded in securing the friendly shelter of a cab, which I made drive off instanter from the field of action, knowing of old that discretion is, as a rule, the better part of valour. The final result to me was, that I had to skedaddle, and keep dark for a time, until the affair had blown over a little.

Happy April Fools' Day....

* there was no such entrance.

Tower of London Menagerie

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Wed, 26 Mar 2008 10:03:00 +0000

Where do you keep a polar bear in London....? Hmmmm. For most of its existence, the Tower of London housed the Royal Menagerie - a collection of wild animals that England's kings and queens had been lumbered with following the donation of animals as 'presents' from foreign admirers. The first substantial references to animals being kept in the Tower were three leopards gifted to Henry III in 1235 by Frederick II, Holy Roman Emperor who married the king's sister Isabella. It's fairly clear that these leopards didn't last long - by 1240 there is a reference to a single leopard and then there is silence. After this initial flourish, the Tower housed (perhaps) one lion, or leopard, until 1252 when Henry decided to have his family's collection of wild animals bought to the Tower from Woodstock, just outside Oxford. How the keepers at Woodstock managed to crate and transport lynxes, camels, leopards and lions over 60 miles to the Tower is anyone's guess, but they duly arrived.

In the same year came a 'polar bear' from the king of Norway, which caused more fuss. Running low on appropriate food, Henry declared that 'one muzzle and one iron chain to hold that bear without the water; one long, strong cord, to hold the same bear fishing or washing himself in the river Thames'. The polar bear was a regular sight fishing for salmon on the banks of the Thames.

A few years later an elephant arrived (pic above); captured during the crusades in Palestine and gifted by Louis IX of France. It is evident that the keeper of the growing menagerie had little idea of how to keep these exotic animals, but a special wooden house was built for the elephant which gave him/her the vast estate of a enclosure measuring 20ft x 40ft. The elephant was dead within 2 years, even though at the time they were thought to live for many centuries.

Henry's son, Edward I, went on to extend the menagerie adding a lion and an 'ounce' (snow leopard). It was then that the menagerie opened to the public - but not to the masses because of the high entrance fee (although Henry VI later declared that anyone providing a cat or dog as lion feed could gain entry for free). But the lions were just as unlucky as the elephant, and the first leopards, because they all died en masse in 1436 - cause unknown, but no doubt due to their management (they were kept in cages measuring 6.5ft x 10ft). It has been recently discovered that these lions would have been Barbary lions, part of a now extinct sub-species, which had large dark manes and originated in north Africa.

Lions did return, but in 1604 King James decided that they should earn their keep by being baited with dogs for spectacular sport. If he bored of this sport, he would send live animals into the lions' den and watch them being torn apart - lambs, chickens, dogs, etc. The king encouraged the lions to breed during his reign (although any cubs rarely survived into adulthood) - and it wasn't for 'conservation' purposes...

Another addition to James' menagerie was a tiger, presented in 1613 by the Ambassador Extraordinary of Savoy. It joined a distinguished company of 11 lions, 2 leopards, 3 eagles, 2 mountain-cats and a jackal - the polar bear had obviously died by then. The life of the replacement elephant, also during James' reign, fared little better than his predecessor. Coming from Spain in 1623 (along with 5 camels), as a gift from the Spanish king, the elephant was given nothing else but wine to drink (a gallon a day!) because, according to his keepers, it was the only thing that he would drink and it kept out the cold. Thus this elephant enjoyed a short, but pleasant life...no doubt the keepers thought that he had caught a chill! Even as late as the end of the 18th century elephants were still being given nothing to drink but wine.

The menagerie's fortunes waned during the reign of James' son, Charles I, but then its popularity as a 'tourist' attraction increased right up until the late eighteenth century when it was by far the most popular attraction in the capital: 'going to see the lions' was de rigueur for wealthy Londoners and foreigners (left: Marco, one of the Tower Lions, 1749). The collection now contained many species bought over from India and Africa (due to the expanding Empire): rhino, antelope, tigers and monkeys (which were allowed to mingle freely with visitors in The Monkey Room).

Unfortunately, some animals at the zoo were also used for experiments. In 1791 George III was given yet another ostrich and the Tower staff saw its existence as a perfect opportunity to test a theory which had been present since medieval times: that ostriches were able to digest iron. Unsurprisingly, the ostrich died fairly promptly after a quantity of iron nails were left in its cage; upon dissection it was found to have swallowed over 80 nails - the theory was well and truly refuted!

By 1809 there was still a sizable collection of animals, but not a particularly happy or healthy one. The interest in the menagerie has waned (due to increasing compassion for animals and the lack of novelty provided by the animals) and the number of animals had dwindled (due to a lack of foreign 'gifts' and colonial acquisitions). What was needed was an injection of new blood (in keepers and animals) and in 1822, Alfred Cops was appointed head keeper. He was a zoologist and an expert in animal behaviour, a man with extensive training and experience looking after captive animals. Along with the passion of the King, George IV, he turned the dwindling menagerie into a well-run collection of over 60 species (see right) of animal living in far better conditions than their previous cramped and unhealthy housing. The success of the menagerie was assured....until the menagerie finally closed in the 1830s and all the animals were passed onto the Zoological Gardens of the Zoological Society of London in the Regent's Park (the beginnings of London Zoo).

Info and newspaper adverting image taken from: The Tower Menagerie (2003) - Daniel Hahn

Cows crossing the river Lys

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 10:26:00 +0000

Emile Claus - Vaches traversant la Lys

Thank you to Eurodog; firstly, for thinking of me, and secondly, for sending me this image on a postcard which she found in a charity shop in Belgium. The image on the card is in black-and-white and didn't scan very well, so I've nicked this from Wikipedia! The Belgium painter, Claus (1849-1924) was famous for the way he used light in his paintings, but I think his work of cattle are the best I've seen...beautifully realistic...thank you, Eurodog for introducing me to him!

Tap - Tap - Tap

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 08:49:00 +0000

Tap - Tap - Tap....what was that? I had to keep getting up from my desk to investigate; I thought it was one of the builders next door, or a wind-blown creeper hitting the window. But as I walked into our spare bedroom I noticed a frenzied chaffinch attacking the glass, apparently trying to get in. Even when I stood right next to the window watching him, he wasn't deterred. The only item in the room which I thought he might has spied and become attracted to was a large red heart-shaped helium balloon (a remnant of Valentine's day - not a present on the day, but left-over from the pub's decorations!). I moved the balloon out of sight and then went back to work. Tap - Tap - Tap...so I closed the curtains in the room and all fell silent. Next day I opened the curtains again and about five minutes later....Tap - Tap - Tap. So the curtains are closed permanently now! Apart from being annoying, I didn't want him to harm himself.

I've never seen this behaviour in a bird before, but when we were young I remember we often heard the dull THUD as a bird accidentally hit against our large sunroom windows (it was three sides glass and the birds thought they could fly through). Most of the time these birds would just be stunned, then pick themselves up and fly off with only a headache, but sometimes they would be killed. But this chaffinch was on a suicide mission - he kept coming back for more of the same punishment.

I'd never really studied a chaffinch before but they are rather beautifully marked and they have two different 'songs' - one a repetitive thrill called the 'rain call' and a loud 'pink, pink' call. At one time, definitely still by 1851 when Mayhew's London Labour and the London Poor was published, chaffinches were a fairly popular pet-bird (after linnets, bullfinches and goldfinches). They were captured in nets on the outskirts of London and in the surrounding counties, particularly Norfolk. According to Mayhew, the nets (of about 12 yards square) were spread flat upon the ground, secured by four iron pins at the edges so that the two 'wings' or 'flaps' at the sides of the net were open. On top of the net, in the middle, sat a cage containing the 'call-bird' (usually a goldfinch or linnet), which was trained to sing loudly and cheerily to attract the wild birds. Sometimes a few stuffed birds were spread around the cage if a flock of wild birds was already nesting nearby.

The bird-catcher (described as 'an intelligent man, versed in every part of the bird business') would lie still and flat on the ground about 20 or 30 yards from the edge of the net and when he thought there were enough wild birds congregated around his decoy bird he rapidly drew towards him the 'pull-line' which caused the two 'wings' of the net to collapse and fly together to encircle the cage and the wild birds. The bird-catcher would then secure the wild birds in cages or in hampers and carry them on his back to London. It was not uncommon for the bird-catcher to secure pulls of 50 - 150 birds when the young broods were all on the wing. Not surprisingly, the mortality of these birds was fairly high once they were in captivity.

Apart from the chaffinches themselves, their nests were also collector's items in Mayhew's time. He speaks to a 'young gypsy-looking lad' who is selling nests complete with the eggs. Chaffinches laid five eggs and were on sale for 3d, 'and were for cur'osity - glass cases or anything like that.'

Having seen 'my' chaffinch in action I can imagine how easy they were to capture - especially with the lure of a decoy bird - I wonder if he saw his reflection in the window and thought he'd seen a mate, or a competitor? Perhaps he saw the red balloon and fell in love with its shiny 'feathers'....I will never know.

Pig's milk

noreply@blogger.com (Hannah Velten) — Wed, 05 Mar 2008 18:31:00 +0000

Why do we drink cow's milk and not pig's milk...? We are, after all, very similar to pigs (both being omnivores and having similar internal anatomy and physiology):

I came across an interesting response/reason, written by a representative of the Illinois Pork Producers Association to a query letter from Guy Petzall (a guy who became well-known for writing to companies asking strange questions) re. the possibilities of milking pigs.

'Porcine do lactate and their milk I will assume would taste great, because it is made of 8.5% fat in relation to the fat that makes up 3.5% of the components in cows milk. The other components such as lactose and water are found at nearly the same percentages in pig's milk. However, pigs will on average produce 13 lbs of milk in a day as compared to cows that produce 65 lbs of milk on average per day. Pigs unlike cows cannot become pregnant while lactating and therefore possess a severe economic problem to producers. While pigs consume less feed per day, economics does not allow pigs to be a viable source of dairy products.

The biggest challenge facing the porcine dairy industry is collecting the product. Pigs on average have fourteen teats as opposed to cows that have four teats. Pigs also differ from cows in their milk ejection time, a cows milk ejection is stimulated by the hoimone oxytocin and can last ten minutes, where as a pig's milk ejection time only last fifleen seconds as the suckling pigs stimulate the release of oxytocin. The technology of a 14 cupped mechanized milking machine that can milk a pig in 15 seconds is not available to pork producers.'

Is this the only reason we don't drink pig's milk, or could it be because of ancient dietary rules which saw the pig as unclean...? Has anyone tried sow's milk or would you even try it? And is this a joke, or not - horse milk? If it is true, would you drink mare's milk? Please let me know what you think.....

I'll let you know the reason for my sudden interest in milk in the next post....