During the Nineteenth Century explosion of interest in the
Natural History of shores, there was also much to discover about animal life in
shallow coastal waters and this tempted naturalists like Edward Forbes to use
dredges to bring animals to the surface, where they could be examined more
closely.
In his biography of his father, Edmund Gosse describes a
dredging trip that Philip Henry Gosse made with his good friend Charles
Kingsley in Torbay. Although Kingsley is best known as the author of The Water Babies, Hereward the Wake and Westward Ho!, like many other Victorians
he had a passion for Natural History and wrote Glaucus to summarise his knowledge and to inspire others [1]. The
book contains many glowing references to Henry Gosse, and Kingsley was clearly
a great admirer. This is what Edmund wrote [2]:
Charles Kingsley was several times
our companion. The naturalists would hire a small trawler, and work up and
down, generally in the southern part of the bay, just outside a line drawn north
and south, between Hope’s Nose and Berry Head. I think that Kingsley was a good
sailor; my father was a very indifferent one, and so was I; but when the trawl
came up, and the multitudinous population of the bottom of the bay was tossed
in confusion before our eyes, we forgot our qualms in our excitement. I still
see the hawk’s eyes of Kingsley peering into the trawl on one side, my father’s
wide face and long set mouth bent upon the other. I well recollect the occasion
(my father’s diary gives me the date, August 11, 1858) when, in about 20
fathoms outside Berry Head, we hauled up the first specimen ever observed of
that exquisite creature, the diadem anemone, Bunodes coronata; its orange-scarlet body clasping the whorls of a
living Turritella shell, while it
held in the air its purple parapet crowned with snow-white spiky tentacles.
Was this the specimen that Henry used in making the illustration
for his important work Actinologia
Britannica (shown below)? This is how Henry describes his discovery of
these sea anemones (since re-named Hormathia
coronata [3]) [4]:
This fine species first occurred
to myself when dredging off Berry Head [seen in the far distance in the
photograph below], in about 20 fathoms, in August 1858. Three or four specimens
came up in about the same number of hauls. In every case the animal was
adherent to the shell of the living Turritella
terebra, a mollusk which is so abundant there that the dredge comes up half
filled with it. The base of the Bunodes
clasps the long turreted shell, nearly enveloping it when adult, only the apex
and the mouth of the shell being exposed.
It is not unusual for sea anemones of some species to
associate with the shells of living snails and the relationship appears to be
mutualistic – the anemone being moved around and the mollusc gaining
protection. No doubt, Charles and Henry were thrilled not only with the capture
of Bunodes, but with the abundance of
Turritella.
Perhaps you don’t have the same level of enthusiasm for sea
anemones and snails, but can appreciate the enthusiasm of others at a time
when there were many discoveries to be made? Although not a good sailor, Henry
made trips by boat because he was very curious about all marine creatures not
just those of the shore, which was his usual haunt and where he collected many
specimens to be returned to his aquarium tanks in Sandhurst, his home in St
Marychurch, Torquay. Edmund describes his appearance when out collecting [2] and
I used this quote in an earlier blog post, in which I contrasted the decorum,
and modesty of dress, required by women collectors [5]:
Even as a little child I was
conscious that my father’s appearance on these excursions was eccentric. He had
a penchant for an enormous felt hat, which had once been black, but was now
grey and rusty with age and salt. For some reason or other, he seldom could be
persuaded to wear clothes of such a light colour and material as other sportsmen
affect. Black broadcloth, reduced to an extreme seediness, and cut in ancient
forms, was the favourite attire for the shore, and after being soaked many
times, and dried in the sun on his somewhat portly person, it grew to look as
if it might have been bequeathed to him by some ancient missionary long
marooned, with no other garments, upon a coral island. His ample boots,
reaching to mid-thigh, completed his professional garb, and when he was seen,
in full sunlight, skimming the rising tide upon the sands, he might have been
easily mistaken for a superannuated working shrimper.
What a lovely description – and how nice to have it to
complement the image of formal photographs (see below, for example). I can
easily visualise Henry busying himself around the coast, completely absorbed in
his work and caring little about appearances. Maybe that’s why he is a hero of
mine, just as he was for Charles Kingsley?
[2] Edmund Gosse (1896) The
Naturalist of the Sea-shore: The Life of Philip Henry Gosse. London,
William Heinemann.
[4] Philip Henry Gosse (1860) Actinologia Britannica: A history of the British sea-anemones and
madrepores. London, John Van Voorst.
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