Underwater flowers

 

Flowering plants (angiosperms) began to dominate the Earth’s vegetation about 100 million years ago and, while other, more primitive, plants continue to be abundant, the present diversity of angiosperms is remarkable. When thinking of flowering plants, our minds may turn to beautiful garden borders, meadows and occasional clumps of flowers in woods and verges. Yet flowering plants have also invaded water bodies; although this is really a re-invasion as land plant evolved from distant aquatic ancestors.

Anyone visiting a stream draining from chalk strata is impressed by the amount of vegetation growing over its bed and invading from the margins. There are many microscopic algae that are only visible under a microscope, but two common flowering plants often dominate: water cress and water crowfoot. Of the two, water cress grows into the stream from the banks and can extend right across narrow channels, a habit that has been exploited in the development of commercial cress beds fed by water from chalk streams. The bulk of the plant remains above the water surface and this contrasts with water crowfoot, where plants grow in dense stands, rooted into the bed of the stream and affecting its flow pattern. Water crowfoot is a relative of the buttercup and its flowers are very similar in structure, although they are white, rather than yellow, in colour. It is only during flowering that we see water crowfoot above the water surface, although stands can become so dense that, at times of low flow in summer, they may be exposed to the air. They are well adapted to life in flowing water. The drag on the mass of leaves is counteracted by an effective rhizome and root system that ensures anchorage on the stream bed and the plants engineer the stream around them. Stands provide an obstruction to flow that creates channels of faster-moving water between plants and this serves not only to keep the substratum clear of sediment, but the growing leaves are also unaffected by deposition and can thus photosynthesise efficiently. In contrast, the base of the plant is an area of sediment build-up and this includes much organic matter [1] that serves as a source of nutrients - another way in which the plants engineer their habitat to their advantage.

Although water cress and water crowfoot are both aquatic plants, with the former fitting the definition less easily than the latter, seagrasses are truly aquatic. As their name suggests, these plants are marine, spending the whole of their life cycle under water. Seagrasses have a world-wide distribution and are perhaps most commonly associated with tropical seas and, especially, reefs, where the water is clear and there is good light penetration to the substratum, allowing efficient photosynthesis. Nutrients needed for growth taken up by roots and stored in rhizomes that also serve to stabilise soft sediments. Interestingly, seagrasses are more closely related to lilies and ginger than to grasses [2] and their colonisation of soft sediments results in large meadows when conditions for their growth are favourable. These are then grazed upon by many animals and they also form shelter for many others organisms and a substratum for yet more.

Seagrasses are also found commonly in shallow temperate seas that have sufficient transparency to allow the plants to grow. As I grew up by the sea in Torbay, and had a love of Natural History, I knew about seagrasses, but had no idea that there were meadows of the plants so close to some of my collecting spots. Neither did I know that seagrasses were flowering plants. Like many, I thought that seaweeds alone were the dominant marine plants around coasts.

Two of my favourite places to visit in Torbay were Elbury [Elberry] Cove and the rocks below Corbyn’s Head, where I spent time collecting marine creatures for aquarium tanks. [3] Both locations now have interesting and informative signs (see below) describing the importance and susceptibility to damage by boats etc. of the seagrass meadows just offshore. It is likely that Zostera is one of the seagrasses and Henry Gosse mentions this plant when describing the results of dredging a little further up the coast:

Now we have made our offing, and can look well into Teignmouth Harbour, the bluff point of the Ness some four miles distant, scarcely definable now against the land. We pull down sails, set her head for the Orestone Rock [just off Torbay], and drift with the tide. The dredge is hove overboard, paying out some forty fathoms of line, for we have about twelve or fourteen fathoms’ water here, with a nice rough, rubbly bottom, over which, as we hold the line in hand, we feel the iron lip of the dredge grate and rumble, without catches or jumps. Now and then, for a brief space, it goes smoothly, and the hand feels nothing; that is when a patch of sand is crossed, or a bed of zostera, or close-growing sea-weeds, each a good variation for yielding. [4]

As Gosse was a devout Creationist, the presence of flowering plants in soft sediments around marine coasts would be another example of the extraordinary events of the six days in which all living things - and all fossil ones - came into existence. [5] To those of us who cannot share such a view, the presence of flowering seagrasses underwater is another example of the extraordinary powers of evolution.

In terrestrial habitats the fertilisation of ova by pollen is aided by insects, wind or other agents and there have been extraordinary adaptations to ensure that fertilisation is achieved - by evolving nectar and/or scent to attract insects, by evolving elaborate colour patterns that are attractive, by producing pollen in enormous quantities, etc. - yet flowers are retained by seagrasses where neither insects or wind can be involved in pollination. Seagrass plants bear both male and female flowers and the pollen from male flowers is released into the water and thus wafts around the plants. The use of water for fertilisation is, of course, extremely common in many marine organisms, including seaweeds and many animals, and that makes underwater flowers seem less unlikely than on first consideration. Natural History is full of such discoveries and one is always learning something new. That’s the satisfaction of it - that, and the sense of wonder at just what can evolve over millions of years and millions of generations. 

[1] Cotton, J.A., Wharton, G., Bass, J.A.B., Heppell, C.M. and Wotton, R.S. (2006) Plant-water-sediment interactions in lowland permeable streams: investigating the effect of seasonal changes in vegetation cover on flow patterns and sediment accumulation. Geomorphology 77: 320-324.

[2] http://www.seagrasswatch.org/seagrass.html

[3] Roger S Wotton (2020) Walking With Gosse: Natural History, Creation and Religious Conflicts. e-book.

[4] Philip Henry Gosse (1865) A Year at the Shore. London, Alexander Strahan.

[5] Philip Henry Gosse (1857) Omphalos: an attempt to untie the geological knot. London, John Van Voorst.

 

When it rains conkers

In one of the most popular scenes in the BBC adaptation of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice [1], Mr Darcy (Colin Firth) dived into the lake at Pemberley and then encountered Elizabeth Bennet (Jennifer Ehle) while walking back to the house. His swim was an invention, although the meeting at Pemberley does take place in the book, as does the introduction to Mr and Mrs Gardiner (Tim Wylton and Joanna David). In that dialogue, there is further invention when Mr Darcy relates that he used to run from Pemberley into Lambton (more than four miles!) as a boy to collect horse chestnuts from the tree on the green. It did seem an odd thing to do, but maybe there were no suitable horse chestnut trees on the Pemberley estate, despite its many acres of “some of the finest woods in the country” [1]?

The dialogue brought fond memories of playing conkers to all of us who watched the programme: collecting the conkers; making a hole through the “best” ones with a meat skewer; and threading through a piece of strong and knotting its end. Then heading for the playground to try and demolish someone else’s conker by swiping at it with one’s own prized weapon, while avoiding, as much as possible, sore knuckles from an opponent’s misguided shot. During these contests there was much chat of how to prepare the best conkers (with vinegar and baking), although the ones we used were not treated.

I was reminded of those times earlier this week as I walked across Boxmoor in Hertfordshire, that has a splendid avenue of horse chestnut (Aeschylus hippocastanum) trees (see above). It had been raining and there was a moderate breeze, with the result that conkers were falling constantly and I was grateful that my bald head was covered by a cloth cap (although none of them fell on me). There were conkers all over the path and the freshly-fallen ones had that lovely lustre of polished veneers that soon dies on exposure to the air. Each conker is different in shape and patterning and they are beautiful: they provide yet another aspect of the “mellow fruitfulness” of autumn and one which brings, for me, a child-like appreciation of the natural world.

Christian believers might suggest that this is something that God intended at the time of the Creation, but atheists are more likely to point to the evolution of the horse chestnut, that began many millions of years ago, way before the creatures that led to H. sapiens first appeared. Conkers are, of course the means of dispersal of future generations of trees and we probably all remember planting some in pots and watching shoots appear at the surface of the soil.

Earlier this year, an interesting paper on the horse chestnut appeared in the Journal of Ecology [2]. It is a comprehensive account, well worth reading for those who love these trees, and it includes the following information:

Aeschylus hippocastanum is native to the Balkan Peninsula in south-east Europe but has been widely planted in temperate areas from the 17th Century onwards..

..Horse chestnut is best known as a tree planted for ornamentation and shade in parks and streets, particularly by the Victorians, since little else can rival the sight of a horse-chestnut in full flower. Indeed, it was voted the UK’s favourite tree in 2017 in a poll run by the Royal Society of Biology. The British population is an estimated 470,000 trees.

Like many other trees, horse chestnuts are attacked by insects and by disease organisms [2]. Those having the greatest aesthetic impact are larvae of a leaf-mining moth, Cameraria ohridella, that first appeared in the late 1970s in Macedonia. They feed on the tissue inside the leaf and produce unsightly brown blotches that have the effect of colouring the whole tree through the summer months and into autumn. While these attacks reduce the ability of the tree to photosynthesise, and thus produce energy, the trees still produce conkers (if smaller and in lower numbers than in unaffected areas). It would be so sad if future generations were prevented from enjoying the appearance of these wonderful fruits, then gathering them for a game of conkers. Or is that the sentiment of an old man, out of touch with the modern age?

[1] Jane Austen (1813) Pride and Prejudice. London, T.Egerton.

[2] Peter A. Thomas, Omar Alhamd, Grzegorz Iszkulo, Monika Dering and Tarek A. Mukassabi (2019) Biological Flora of the British Isles: Aeschylus hippocastanum. Journal of Ecology 107:992-1030.

Watching starfish move

All of us who enjoy looking in coastal rock pools are pleased when we find a starfish sheltering under a stone, or under fronds of algae. When we pick up our specimen, we see that the undersides of its arms bear many tube feet that are used both in locomotion and also as a means of obtaining food. Their use is explained in the following video clip [1]:

In the Nineteenth Century, our knowledge of starfish locomotion was dependent on written accounts, aided by illustrations, and no-one was better at describing the animals of the shore than Philip Henry Gosse. In Land and Sea, Gosse writes of a visit to Meadfoot Beach in Torquay to explore the rock pools there (see below), a collecting site within easy walking distance of his home [2].

Gosse found a large starfish in the Meadfoot rock pools and moved it to another pool that provided a better chance of detailed study, as the animal was too large to take back to his aquarium. His description in Land and Sea [2] of its locomotion provides an interesting comparison with the video recording above. In reading it, we can admire Henry Gosse’s ability as a writer and it is easy to see how he was such an important figure in the development of the “Marine Biology Craze” of the Victorian era:

I mark it gliding smoothly, and with a moderate rapidity, over the unevenness of the rocky bottom, and notice the mechanism by which its progression is effected, I see at once that I have before me one of the great types of animal locomotion; a series of contrivances, by which a given end, that of voluntary change of place, is accomplished, which are quite sui generis; admirable in their adaptation to the prescribed end, but totally unlike the arrangements by which the same object is attained in higher forms of life..

..Each of the five thick and bluntly-pointed arms, or rays, of this star-like animal is seen to be indented on its underside by a rather wide and deep furrow, which extends from the hollow in the centre, where the mouth is seated, throughout its length, to the point. Along the floor of this groove we should see in the dead and dried animal four rows of minute perforations, running lengthwise. We cannot discern them directly during the living activity of the starfish, because the crowding sucker-feet conceal them. Each of these suckers is a tube of delicate membrane, a continuation of the common skin; and its interior accurately corresponds with one of these perforations in the skeleton..

..If we were to dissect this animal, we should find, on the interior surface of the semi-crustaceous integument of the arm, a little globular bag of similar transparent membrane, on each aperture, which opens into the cavity of the globe, just as on the outer side it opens into the tube. Thus there is a free intercommunication between the globose sac on the inside and the sucker-tube on the outside, through the tiny perforation in the crust. The interior is filled with a clear fluid, scarcely differing in its nature from sea-water. The globular sac within and the tube without are both composed of highly contractile tissue, under the control of the animal will.

Gosse goes on to describe the stepping motion of the tube feet, but does not describe the complete water vascular system, its connection to the surrounding sea water via the madreporite (the porous plate shown in the video), or the nervous system by which the movement of the tube feet is controlled. Being a devout Christian, he does, however, state:

Here we have one of the multitudinous results of the infinite Wisdom and almighty Power combined in creation. The problem is to endow with the faculty of voluntary locomotion a sentient creature which has no internal skeleton, and no limbs. It is solved in many ways in the invertebrate classes, and this is one example.

While writing this, Gosse was aware that there was a growing acceptance of the theory of evolution (Darwin having published On the Origin of Species in 1859), something which he vehemently opposed, as he believed in a literal interpretation of the story of Creation in the Book of Genesis. He looked upon the wonderful complexities of the natural world as the work of an all-powerful God.

I, too, am filled with amazement when looking at specimens of the same animals and plants that Gosse observed and this always presents a challenge. Coming back to the example of locomotion in starfish, I find myself trying to answer questions on how the water vascular system evolved – what were the various stages required and did they occur near-simultaneously, or gradually? Isn't the sense of wonder posed by such questions very similar to that Gosse felt about God's Creation?

[1] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K2G7L5hcEt8

[2] Philip Henry Gosse (1865) Land and Sea. London, James Nisbet & Co..

Bee orchids, Darwin and Creation

I have often thought that it is easier to believe in the creation of organisms than in their evolution. All that is required is a belief in a Creator, but if one does not have that, one is left to pondering the many steps that must have occurred to produce the extraordinary adaptations of, and associations between, living organisms that we see around us. We cannot comprehend the time scales over which these changes have taken place, so all we are left with are our speculations.

In the past few weeks, I have been taking a WEA course on the influence of Darwin’s On the Origin of Species on 19th Century thought. It is led by Paul Ranford, the excellent historian of science, who introduced us to other works by Darwin, including his book The various contrivances by which orchids are fertilised by insects, orchids becoming a consuming passion of the great man while he recovered from the effort of producing the “Origin”. It set me to reading what Darwin had to say about the bee orchid (Ophrys apifera – see below, with an illustration from Darwin’s book). 

These are some extracts from Darwin's book [1]:

The Bee Ophrys differs widely from the great majority of Orchids in being excellently constructed for fertilising itself..

..When a pollen-mass is placed on the stigma and then withdrawn, the elastic threads by which the packets are tied together break, and leave several packets on the viscid surface. In all other Orchids the meaning of these several contrivances is unmistakeably clear – namely, the downward movement of the lip of the rostellum when gently pushed – the viscidity of the disc – the depression of the caudicle as soon as the disc is exposed to the air – the rupturing of the elastic threads – and the conspicuousness of the flower. Are we to believe that these adaptations for cross-fertilisation in the Bee Ophrys are absolutely purposeless, as would certainly be the case if this species has always been and will always be self-fertilised? It is, however, just possible that insects, although they may have never been seen to visit the flowers, may at rare intervals transport the pollinia from plant to plant..

..The whole case is perplexing in an unparalleled degree, for we have in the same flower elaborate contrivances for directly opposed objects..

..As it can hardly be doubted that O. apifera was at first constructed so as to be regularly cross-fertilised, it may be asked will it ever revert to its former state: and if it does not so revert, will it become extinct?

The question is a valid one and Darwin involved his correspondents in finding out more about the fertilisation of bee orchids. One of his regular correspondents was Philip Henry Gosse, the avid creationist, who was busy in 1863 “examining bee orchis for Darwin at Petit Tor” [2].

The bee orchis (orchid) gets its common name from its appearance, said to resemble a solitary bee and we know that male bees are essential for the fertilisation of some orchids. We do not know whether the flower looks like a bee to bees but we do know that the floral pigments give signatures under untraviolet light that may act as attractants. Since Darwin’s time, we recognise that another important mechanism is involved in attracting pollinators and this is of much greater significance than the appearance of the flowers, that so fascinates humans. Orchids in the genus Ophrys secrete chemicals that mimic sex pheromones produced by female bees and these vary from species to species, thus attracting specific pollinators, although accidental fertilisation by a range of insects may also be a possibility. Ophrys apifera is fertilised by a solitary bee in Mediterranean regions but, as Darwin discovered, self-fertilisation occurs in the northern part of its range.

There is a lively contemporary debate on the significance of the various factors involved in the fertilisation of Ophrys [3,4,5] and, fittingly, this exchange of views took place in a journal of the Linnean Society, the society that was instrumental in introducing Darwin’s ideas on evolution. The three papers (and there are many others on the topic) show clearly just how complex the evolution of the orchids has been. Mention must also be made of why male bees are often the agents of fertilisation of the orchids, by transferring pollen from one flower to another. The females of solitary bees mate soon after emergence from the pupa [6] and it is probable that there is a surplus of males or, if mating is a once only event, there are males constantly looking for mates and, by deception, being attracted to orchids.

The whole arrangement is a remarkable example of co-evolution and one wonders about the timing of the steps involved in the association and whether they were gradual or rapid (over geological time). What came first? Was it the mating biology of bees, the selection of colour patterns in Ophrys flowers that became attractive to insects, the production of a series of chemicals that act as attractants, differences across the range of the plants, or what?

[1] Charles Darwin (1862) The various contrivances by which orchids are fertilised by insects. London, John Murray.

[2] Edmund Gosse (1896) The naturalist of the sea-shore: the life of Philip Henry Gosse. London, William Heinemann.

[3] E.Bradshaw, P.J.Rudall, D.S.Devey, M.M.Thomas, B.J.Glover and R.M.Bateman (2010) Comparative labellum micromorphology of the asexually deceptive temperate orchid genus Ophrys: diverse epidermal cell types and multiple origins of structural colour. Botanical Journal of the Linnean Society 162: 504-540.

[4] N.J.Vereecken, M.Streinzer, M.Assaye, J.Spaethe, H.F.Paulus, J. Stöckl, P.Cortis and F.P Schiestl (2011) Integrating past and present studies on Ophrys pollination – a comment on Bradshaw et al. Botanical Journal of the Linnean Society 165: 329-335.

[5] R.M Bateman, E. Bradshaw, D.S.Devey, B.J.Glover, S. Malmgren, G.Sramkó, M.M.Thomas and P.J.Rudall (2011) Species arguments: clarifying competing concepts of species delimitation in the pseudo-copulatory orchid genus Ophrys. Botanical Journal of the Linnean Society 165: 336-347.

[6] https://www.bumblebeeconservation.org/lifecycle/

I would like to thank Paul Ranford and my WEA classmates for their stimulating discussions. It is great to leave a course with many more questions than answers – after all, that’s the fundamental nature of science.

Green beer and Spirulina

A brewer on the shores of Lake Erie has produced a green beer, flavoured with kiwi fruit and with green tea added as colouring [1]. This unusual drink has received a favourable response from drinkers who like its fruity taste, but the brewers made the green beer to highlight a problem with their water supply that originates from Lake Erie. Unfortunately, the lake has recently suffered blooms of cyanobacteria (previously known as blue-green algae) that can be seen in satellite images (see below, from NOAA). Given that they are very primitive unicellular organisms, the numbers of individuals, and colonies, in these blooms are astonishing.

The cyanobacteria are fertilised by nutrients, especially phosphate, that are added to increase the growth of grass, or crops, and which run-off into the rivers and are then carried to the lake. Phosphate is a limiting nutrient in most fresh waters, so its addition causes the cyanobacteria to grow and multiply rapidly. Their numbers cannot be controlled by planktonic animals and cyanobacteria exude sticky polymers that provide a defence - the polymers also allow attachment of cells to form colonies, and enable some cells to propel themselves within the water column. As long as nutrients are available, blooms result and these inhibit the efficiency of drinking water treatment plants and, to add to the woe, some cyanobacteria produce toxins that are poisonous to humans and may be lethal to our pets.

So, are all cyanobacteria harmful to human activities? The answer is no, for without cyanobacteria and the evolution of their capacity to convert carbon dioxide and water into sugars using light energy – the process of photosynthesis – we would have no green plants and very little oxygen in the atmosphere. Indeed, we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for cyanobacterial evolution. The ancestors of single-celled algae ingested cyanobacteria and, by an unknown mechanism, some of these survived and became incorporated with the algal cell as chloroplasts. From single-celled algae came multicellular organisms and the complex aquatic, and terrestrial, plants that we know today.

Cyanobacteria also have a more obvious value to us, as some species are cultured in lagoons to produce intentional blooms that are then harvested. The collected mass is dried and compressed into cakes, pellets and powders that are marketed as Spirulina, being valued both as a health food and dietary supplement. There are many recipes that feature the cultured cyanobacteria [2,3] and Spirulina is even finding its way into “fine dining”, as viewers of the BBC’s Masterchef: The Professionals know. Of course, it is important to avoid harmful cyanobacteria when selecting those to be cultured for human consumption and I wouldn’t recommend harvesting the blooms from Lake Erie.

[1] http://www.toledoblade.com/local/2017/11/30/Brewery-makes-algae-beer-to-spotlight-threat-to-Lake-Erie.html

[2] http://spirulina.org.uk/recipes.htm

[3] http://www.microrganics-uk.com/spirulina_recipes.htm

The kraken - and humpback whales

In his fascinating book Sea Monsters on Medieval and Renaissance Maps, Chet Van Duzer [1] gives a quote from Konungs skuggsjá (King’s Mirror), a mid-thirteenth century Old Norse book:

There is a fish not yet mentioned which it is scarcely advisable to speak about on account of its size, which to most men will seem incredible. There are, moreover, but very few who can tell anything definite about it, inasmuch as it is rarely seen by men; for it almost never approaches the shore or appears where fishermen can see it, and I doubt that this sort of fish is very plentiful in the sea. In our language it is usually called the “kraken”.. .. It is said, that when these fishes want something to eat, they are in the habit of giving forth a violent belch, which brings up so much food that all sorts of fish in the neighbourhood, both large and small, will rush up in the hope of getting nourishment and good fare. Meanwhile the monster keeps its mouth open, and inasmuch as its opening is about as wide as a sound or fjord, the fishes cannot help crowding in great numbers. But as soon as its mouth and belly are full, the monster closes its mouth and thus catches and shuts in all the fishes that just previously had rushed in eagerly to seek food.

This account puzzled me at first and then I realised it was probably a description of a behaviour shown by humpback whales that exhale streams of bubbles while swimming 3-5 m under the surface of the sea [2] to panic fish. Bubbles released as the whale swims in a tight circle cause the prey to become concentrated as the fish swim away from the disturbance in the water that is now partially surrounding them, creating a “bait ball”. The whale then lunges up through the mass of fish and, breaking the surface, closes its mouth to allow the release of water through the baleen plates [2]. This results in the capture of much larger numbers of prey than would be possible if humpbacks used the more linear feeding method used by other baleen whales, swimming through shoals at the water surface without lunging or producing bubbles.

Humpback whales also use “bubble netting” to operate in groups, with the advantage that more fish are caught per individual than would be the case should the whales feed singly. It is thus of advantage to all individuals that partake, not only those that are closely related, and produces a larger, greater concentration of prey. Wiley et al. [3] monitored this group behaviour:

..humpback whales capture prey by engaging in complex feeding manoeuvres that are often accompanied by the apparently directed use of air bubbles.. .. Bubble use by humpback whales has been observed in many of their feeding habitats and is reported to occur in a variety of configurations. These bubble-feeding behaviours appear to vary in nature among both individuals and regions; for example, bubble clouds (the production of a single or multiple bursts of seltzer-sized bubbles) are commonly observed from humpback whales in the Gulf of Maine, but never in Alaskan waters.

Such differences point to behaviours learned by individuals in geographically-separated sub-populations, with groups of whales using two approaches to bubble netting - “upward spirals” and “double loops” [3]. The effect is the same - a bubble corral around very large numbers of fish - and the manoeuvrability required results from the large tail fluke and the high aspect ratio flippers (see below), that allow short turning circles and bursts of rapid movement to the surface. The evolution of form in humpback whales thus made bubble netting possible. 

It is spectacular for human whale watchers (see the video clip below), as is feeding by individuals,  and one can imagine the awe of thirteenth century explorers in their very small craft watching a kraken belching. As to the appearance of the kraken, we know that it was very large, but not with a mouth as wide as a sound or fjord. Clearly the observation of humpback whales resulted in descriptive stories that became elaborated with telling and the addition of some rich Nordic mythology.

[1] Chet Van Duzer (2013) Sea Monsters on Medieval and Renaissance Maps. London, The British Library.

[2] J.H.W.Hain, G.R.Carter, S.D.Kraus, C.A.Mayo and H.E.Winn (1982) Feeding behavior of the humpback whale, Megaptera novoaeangliae, in the Western North Atlantic. Fishery Bulletin 80: 259-268

[3] D.Wiley, C.Ware, A.Bocconcelli, D.Cholewiak, A.Friedlaender, M.Thompson and M. Weinrich (2011) Underwater components of humpback whale bubble-net feeding behaviour. Behaviour 148: 575-602.

Two Creationists, Christian sects, and religious tolerance

Philip Henry Gosse (1810-1888) and Francis Orpen Morris (1810-1893) were two of the most well-known Natural Historians of the mid-Nineteenth Century. Gosse is famous as the populariser of aquaria, the use of microscopes, and the observation of marine organisms on the shore; Morris for his works on moths, butterflies and birds, and also for his campaigns against fox hunting, vivisection and much else besides. Both had biographies written by their sons [1,2] and it is from these that we know much about the two men.

Henry Gosse (above) was the son of a painter of miniatures and, as a young man, was sent to work as a clerk in Newfoundland, returning to England after travelling to Alabama where he held a teaching post. He was interested in insects as a boy and was introduced to shore life by a knowledgeable aunt. Like Gosse, Morris (below) was also very interested in Natural History as a boy, but his background was rather more privileged, being the son of a Royal Navy officer (who became an Admiral) and going on to study Classics at Oxford University. On graduation, Morris was ordained in the Church of England and progressed to be rector of Nunburnholme from 1854-1893 [3]. From this small village in the Yorkshire Wolds, Morris kept up a correspondence on many topics and he was an enthusiastic pamphleteer, best known today for attacking Darwinism and, especially, Darwin's On the origin of species [3].

Having returned from North America, Henry Gosse was a schoolmaster and also wrote books, the first being based on his experience in Canada and published by Van Voorst. This was followed by a number of other publications, most of which he illustrated, having acquired the skills and training of an artist from his father (the plates in Morris's books were by others). Eventually, Gosse became recognised and he was able to live off his work as an author and lecturer, settling in Torquay from 1857-1888. He was a devout non-conformist and he produced his book Omphalos [4] as an "attempt to untie the geological knot": the conflict between geological periods of time and the account of Creation in The Bible. Although written in London, Omphalos was published soon after Henry moved to Torquay and this was two years before the publication of Darwin's famous book. Gosse's thesis was that geological time periods, strata and fossils were all likely to be real but that they were created at the time the Earth and all organisms came into existence. Needless to say, this idea was not met with any enthusiasm by either the scientific or religious communities [5] and Gosse continued his work in Natural History, making many outstanding contributions.

Both men were Christians and Creationists, but I wonder whether they would have enjoyed each other's company if they met (I cannot find a record that they did so, and both travelled little in their mature years). Gosse was shy, but this did not stop him proselytising his views if he had the chance. He was an evangelical Christian with a profound belief that the second coming of Christ was imminent, something that strongly influenced his thinking. He was intolerant of Catholicism and always referred to the village in which he lived as Marychurch, rather than St Marychurch (its proper title), as he objected to the use of the term saint in the Catholic tradition [5]. Morris had equally strong views about the practice of religion, but these centred on the need for the traditions of the Church of England. On the organisation of religion, then, the two men are likely to have clashed – would their mutual love of Natural History and the evidence it provided constantly to them of Divine Creation have enabled them to celebrate together? Somehow, I doubt it. Yet, if there weren't religious differences to get in the way, one can imagine Gosse and Morris talking for hours about the boyhood collection of insects, their love of birds and all manner of other Natural History.

Henry Gosse's religious views provided difficulties in his relations with Edmund, his son and biographer and these led Edmund to write Father and Son, published anonymously in 1907. In contrast, Morris's son not only became ordained in the Church of England, but also followed his father as the Rector of Nunburnholme. Both "official" biographies written by the sons are factual and, in parts, affectionate, but Father and Son is rather different. It paints Henry Gosse as being intolerant of Edmund's views and he was always encouraging him to return to the values of the Brethren that Henry believed in so profoundly. The result of Henry's unshakeable beliefs was thus alienation from the scientific world and also from his only child. It all seems so unnecessary, especially as he was such a splendid enthusiast for Nature. Having asked whether Morris and Gosse would have enjoyed each other's company, I'm tempted to ask whether I would get on well with either of them. I like to think that the answer is yes, but I'm not sure. Religious belief has a way of becoming so intrusive and damaging.

It is not far-fetched to suggest that both Gosse and Morris had a Christian faith that made them isolated and narrowly focussed and which provided challenges from the scientific developments occurring in the mid-Nineteenth century. Their faith was the most important thing in their lives and they believed in all that was written in the Bible, yet their preferences in form of worship were different and neither was likely to budge from their position. As a non-Christian, that is something I find difficult to understand, yet it has been a feature of the Christian religion, with its many schisms and formation of splinter groups. As there must be one God and one Heaven, I am puzzled about the inability of some Christians to agree and to believe that their version of the faith is the only true one.

To gain some insight, I looked up the website of the Evangelical Alliance to find out if we are now living in an age of greater tolerance. In a piece entitled "Should we all go to one Church? What denominations mean for unity" Amaris Cole begins by introducing two questions [6]:

Anglican. Baptist. Brethren. Assemblies of God. Vineyard. Elim. Newfrontiers. Foursquare. The list goes on. There are many churches in the United Kingdom, all with their own worship styles, preaching practices and theological frameworks. But if we're aiming for unity as evangelicals, is it a problem that we are split down denominational lines? Shouldn't we all go to one Church?

One of the five respondents, Alexandra Davis, replied as follows [6]:  

God created us in diversity, with differences in style on so many levels – learning, worshipping, fellowshipping, communing. I suspect if we all went to one Church we'd just end up in a very mono-cultural way of doing things. Meeting with God and other Christians in a diversity of ways is one way of bringing glory to the creator God whose imagination is beyond anything we could... imagine. We could, of course, get a bit better at being more accepting of difference, keeping a check on how valuable our particular preferences really are, and making more.. ..effort to cross those diversity lines. We will be one Church in heaven so we might as well start practising for the perfection now.

Alexandra implies that the various sects and branches of Christian practice derive from differences inherent in human individuals and society. In advocating tolerance between sects (as I believe she is doing) she will attract the wrath of those like Gosse and Morris who were firmly of the opinion that only their version of Christianity was the correct one. Also, what are evangelical Christians proselytising if it is not their own personal version (usually shared by a few others) of belief?

Of course, if religions are the result of human imagination, one could understand it all. It must be difficult to be a Christian believer and face the questions that Amaris poses.

[1] Edmund Gosse (1896) The Naturalist of the Sea-shore: The Life of Philip Henry Gosse. London, William Heinemann.

[2] M. C. F. Morris (1897) Francis Orpen Morris : A Memoir. London, John C. Nimmo.

[3] http://rwotton.blogspot.co.uk/2017/06/the-tide-is-setting-in-against-darwinism.html

[4] Philip Henry Gosse (1857) Omphalos: An attempt to untie the geological knot. London, John Van Voorst,

[5] Ann Thwaite (2002) Glimpses of the Wonderful: The Life of Philip Henry Gosse 1810 – 1888. London, Faber and Faber.

[6] http://www.eauk.org/idea/should-we-all-go-to-one-church.cfm

The illustration of Christian worship above is taken from http://religiousaffections.org