“The Sea is not made of Water”

Adam Nicolson has a passion for the shore, especially that in the part of Scotland where he created rock pools to aid his observations. “The Sea is not made of Water: Life between the Tides” describes the natural history of these pools, and of the shore in general, and the book also gives colourful accounts of local legends about where sea meets land. A third strand (pun intended) is based on philosophy, both ancient and more recent, and the whole is an enjoyable, and stimulating, read.

Nicolson's three pools were constructed by “excavating”, damming a channel and by creating a barrier to prevent water escaping at low tide. Each was thus different in topography and in the plants and animals that colonised; some long-term, others as short-term visitors. After an Introduction on “The Marvellous” (a title borrowed from Gosse’s “The Romance of Natural History: Second Series”), the book has chapters on sandhoppers, prawns, winkles, crabs, and anemones. Each is thoroughly researched and invitingly written and we learn much of the habits of the featured animals and also about their habitat and mini-ecosystems. Throughout, Nicolson adopts a rather anthropomorphic approach illustrated by these examples:

Can invertebrates have emotions?

Klein and Barron are convinced that invertebrates such as these prawns ‘are aware of the world (including the state of the mobile body within the world), and that this aware-ness feels a certain way to the organism that has it.’

[Of sandhoppers] They feed, nibbling on the weeds, and from time to time they also start to look after themselves, their little hands and feet feeling over the surface of their own shell-coat for any grains or fragments that might be abrading it..

Sandhoppers’ genes have learned to overwhelm the processing capabilities of their predators.

These crabs approach life with impressive displays of delicacy and discrimination, clearly recognising that only by looking after themselves will they survive.

[Of sea anemones] The cut edges naturally push together and rejoin to form a smaller animal. Those cut surfaces know each other as part of one thing and are happy to fuse.

These are just a few examples of the tone set, sometimes quoting anthropomorphic comments by the authors of scientific papers, and, while it results in lively description, it grates with me. When looking at rock pools, I feel a sense of wonder, but it is not a sense that requires projections of human feelings and nor does it require access to philosophy that is anyway a human construct. Indeed, I find reading philosophy very difficult and I admit that I don’t understand much of it, despite reading and re-reading what various distinguished philosophers have written. This might be because I am not very intelligent, but I like to think it is down to an acceptance that we will never understand much about the world around us, despite the claims of scientists using mechanistic approaches. The feeling of the unbelievable complexity of the natural world produces a profound sense of awe and that is good enough for me. I feel the same way when trying to understand geological time scales and the extent of the Universe.

What Nicolson shows is the delight that can be obtained from looking at Nature and, especially the nature of the aquatic world, something that is very different to the terrestrial world with which we are much more familiar. Shores represent a transition between the two and it is little wonder that they became so fascinating for nineteenth century observers, especially for those who could afford a microscope, in what was an explosion of interest, and discovery, at that time. The fascination continues today, as anyone who includes a visit to rock pools during a family holiday at the seaside will agree. Some of us keep that fascination for life.

My first experience of marine shores came as a child growing up in South Devon and, although I can only rarely re-visit the areas that meant so much to me when I was young, I am fortunate to have the “Shores of South Devon” website [1] and its associated Facebook page. There are regular entries, by enthusiastic experts, on what they have seen on their visits to favourite spots along the coast and there are also images, and videos, shot by SCUBA divers to show habitats and organisms that are less familiar to most of us. I am very grateful to the organisers and to all those who post their observations - Facebook has its good sides.

Having moved inland to go to university, my interests turned to a fascination with streams and rivers, firstly with the animals they contained and then with the processes, and transformations, that resulted from the animals’ activities. I then moved on to consider what happens at the microscopical scale and the part played by microorganisms, and their by-products, in the cycling or organic matter. In the end, I discovered that, much as I read and researched, I was getting further and further away from gaining an understanding of the aquatic world and, just as with geological time and the dimensions of the Universe, I became even more awestruck as a result.

In his review of Nicolson’s book in the Financial Times, Caspar Henderson posed the question “Where did life begin?”. Of course, we will never know and we have such a problem defining what we mean by life – do we mean self-replicating molecules, the first cell, cells that can split, or what? My own definition refers to the origins of the first cell and this was my response to the question that Henderson asked [2]. I think the first cell resulted from events on a very ancient shore, but a more popular view is that life began around some kind of hydrothermal vent. Was it a singular event and, if so, what were the chances of it occurring? Cue more awe. 

[1] https://shoresofsouthdevon.org.uk/

[2] Letter to the Editor, Financial Times 26th June 2021

Becoming interested in place names

COVID-19 isolation has meant that I have been unable to make my annual visit by train to South Devon and the coastal towns that meant so much to me as I was growing up [1]. It is always a journey of anticipation, that becomes heightened as the train passes along the sea wall between Dawlish and Teignmouth, giving views of the coast beyond. Although I have not lived in Torbay for over 55 years, it is where I feel my roots are, especially as many generations of my ancestors called the region home.

Perhaps the lack of direct contact is why I’ve been reflecting on my childhood in Polsham Park (the road off which our house stood, see above), before I left Torbay in 1965. In an earlier blog post [2], I described how I was influenced by Mr Ian Kay, one of my English teachers at Torquay Boys’ Grammar School, who ventured outside the formality of a syllabus and told us about books we might like to read, and interesting things like the origin of words. I was aware that I had a good vocabulary but, until his lessons, I had paid scant attention to the derivation of place names.

I had always had a strong sense of place and felt very at home in South Devon and I knew there were many old buildings - Oldway Mansion, Kirkham House, Coverdale Tower, Torre Abbey, etc. – that linked my time to some previous one. Becoming interested in local place names was an extension of that and I rushed to the Paignton Lending Library to get a copy of the Oxford Dictionary of English Place Names. I have the most recent addition of that fascinating book [3] and it gives brief definitions of the origin of names (I am aware there are other volumes containing much deeper scholarship). 

Some of the derivations of place names that I discovered are given below [from 3] as an alphabetical list and those wanting to know more about South Devon origins (both peoples and names) should consult the posts by the excellent local historian Dr Kevin Dixon [4]. As expected, almost all the origins are from Old English, but how interesting to see the three Celtic “intrusions” marking embarkation points:    

Ashburton (town near Torbay) – farmstead or village by the stream where ash trees grow [OE]

Babbacombe (part of Torquay) – valley of a man called Babba [OE]

Barton (part of Torquay) – barley farm or outlying grange where corn is stored [OE]

Blagdon (village near Torbay) – dark-coloured hill [OE]

Brixham (town in Torbay) – homestead or enclosure of a man called Brioc [OE, name of Celtic origin]

Buckfastleigh (town near Torbay) – wood or woodland clearing near a place of shelter for bucks (male deer or billy goats) [OE]

Chelston (part of Torquay)  – estate associated with a man called Cēol [OE]

Cockington (a village in Torbay) – estate associated with a man called Cocc(a) [OE]

Dawlish (a station on the local railway line) – named for its dark stream [Celtic origin]

Dittisham (a village near Torbay) – enclosure or promontory of a man called Dyddi [OE]

Galmpton (a village in Torbay) – farmstead of rent-paying peasants [OE]

Goodrington (a station on the local railway line) – estate associated with a man called Gōdhere [OE]

Kingskerswell (a station on the local railway line) – spring or stream where watercress grows [OE] (the manor belonged to the king in 1086)

Kingswear (a station on the local railway line) – the king’s weir [OE] (Kingeswere in 12th Century)

Kirkham (part of Paignton) – homestead with a church [OE + kirk derived from OScand]

Livermead (part of Torquay) – thick or muddy water + meadow [OE] – given by Torbay local historian Dr Kevin Dixon as lily meadow.

Maidencombe (part of Torquay) – valley of the maidens i.e. where they gathered [OE]

Marldon (part of Paignton) – hill where gentian grows [OE]

Newton Abbot (a station on the local railway line) – the new farmstead, estate or village [OE] belonging to the Abbot of Torre Abbey

Paignton (a town in Torbay) – estate associated with a man called Pæga [OE]

Polsham (part of Paignton) – enclosure of a man called Paul [ME + OE] – perhaps – see https://www.torbay.gov.uk/media/7583/polsham-caa.pdf

Shiphay (part of Torquay) –  homestead (?) with a flock of sheep [OE] *

Stoke Gabriel (village near Torbay) – an outlying farmstead or hamlet [OE] - Gabriel from the saint [known from 1309] 

Teignmouth (a station on the local railway line) - the mouth [OE] of the river Teign [Celtic origin] 

Torre (a station on the local railway line) – the rocky hill [OE]

Totnes (town near Torbay) – promontory of a man called Totta [OE]

 

OE = Old English (the English language c.450 – c.1100) [3]

ME = Middle English (the English language c.1100 – c.1500) [3]

OScand = Old Scandinavian (the language of the Vikings, comprising Old Danish and Old Norse) [3]

 

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

[2] https://rwotton.blogspot.com/2020/11/my-secondary-school-education-in-torbay.html 

[3] A. D. Mills (2011) A Dictionary of British Place Names (First Edition Revised). Oxford, Oxford University Press.

[4] https://wearesouthdevon.com/author/kevin-dixon/

 

Bullying an outsider

 

Recently, a number of countries have apologised publicly for actions committed in the past [1]. I have always found this odd, as there is no suggestion that the government of the contemporary country was about to repeat the evil of earlier generations, although there is always a risk. 

These acts made me think about whether I need to offer an apology for events in the past. Of course, I cannot do that on behalf of my country and, like all of us, there are a number of actions for which I should have apologised at, or near, the time. Not just on my own behalf, but also for others. One of these comes to mind over and over again. 

Richard Burton (not his real name) came to the Boys' Grammar School I attended during our second year. The school had an excellent academic record and behaviour, on the whole, was good. It was always presented as being a very desirable place to gain an education and this inevitably resulted in complacency. As always happens, there were hierarchies, and some boys were favoured both by masters and by their fellow students, but there was little nastiness. Richard was an outsider and had to find a way into the groups that had already formed and that is never easy. Perhaps he was ill-equipped to do so, for in a short period of time he was the victim of physical attacks and these escalated into what can only be described as violent assaults. If the masters knew about it, they did nothing to stop it, and those of us who spectated were swept up by the thrill of Richard getting another beating and, deep down, probably feeling grateful that it wasn't one of us that was being attacked. It lasted for years, on and off, and I don't know how he coped. 

We didn't know much about Richard’s background, but we did know that he was an outsider and that it was possible that he had moved to our town as a result of some adverse family circumstance. We didn't know, or care, about the reasons for the move, but the awful treatment meted out to him at school must have been misery enough, without any other problems that he had. I wonder what happened to Richard, and whether he was able to overcome the inevitable pain of it all? I still feel guilty for being an onlooker, carrying out my own little bit of taunting, and doing nothing to stop others. I knew the incessant bullying was very wrong and that’s what promotes my continuing sense of guilt. 

It all happened a long time ago (in the 1960s) and I’m sure that bullying is no longer a problem, as the complacency that resulted in such awful attacks must be a thing of the past. Perhaps the school, so proud of celebrating the achievements of its students, should join me in making a belated apology to Richard? But it's too late, isn't it – and, just as in apologies from national governments, what’s the point? 

[1] http://www.centrepeaceconflictstudies.org/wp-content/uploads/National_Apologies.pdf

P.S. The picture at the beginning of this post is of me, by the way, not Richard. It was taken from one of those school photographs that mean such a lot to some people. Fortunately, I was not bullied by my fellow students, only by some members of staff.

 

Memories of privet in Torbay

 

In an earlier blog post, I described the wonderful scent of honeysuckle and its reputation for inciting thoughts of love, especially in girls [1]. Another plant that flowers in July is privet, very common as a hedging plant and described by the Royal Horticultural Society as having “panicles of small, often unpleasantly scented white flowers” [2] (see above). This is a subjective judgement, of course, but most people would agree with the RHS, as they walk past flowering privet hedges. 

For me, the smell of privet flowers brings back a very strong childhood memory of trainspotting on summer Saturdays in Torbay. This is what I wrote in Walking with Gosse [3]:  

For me, the constant arrival of trains was exciting. Not because of the crowds of holidaymakers, that were just a blur, but for the chances of trainspotting and seeing locomotives from distant places far beyond Bristol. I don’t know why trainspotting was such a passion for me as a boy, but it was. Even today, the smell of privet flowers reminds me of happy walks through the local park to the railway station and the anticipation of gaining new entries in my Ian Allan Combined Volume. 

I was brought up in Paignton and, as a child, Bristol to me was in the far north. Large numbers of visitors swelled the local population during the summer months and an indication of the amount of holiday traffic is shown in the photograph below (taken from the excellent book Summer Saturdays in the West [4] and showing a typical scene at Torquay from August 1957, the time when I pressed up against the railings at Paignton railway station). On the left, we see a crowded platform of returning holidaymakers about to board their train home, while the opposite platform is empty and awaiting the next delivery of excited passengers coming to start their holiday by the sea. The small locomotive at the rear of the heavy train was needed to assist the train engine in tackling Torre bank and another of these “bankers”, having drifted back from Torre station, waits on the central line ready to buffer up to the rear of the next arrival from Paignton. Once past the bank, there was a clear passage to Newton Abbot, where the lines from Torquay joined those from Plymouth and Cornwall. Newton Abbot was a mecca for trainspotters in those days, as pilot engines were needed over the South Devon banks and the locomotive shed that provided them (code 83A) was adjacent to the station. There was always lots to see, and three years after the time mentioned in the quote above, I still made occasional trips up to Newton Abbot to spend a day trainspotting. They didn’t have the same spell as those of earlier days, perhaps because powerful diesels were starting to appear and, anyway, I was growing away from my childhood passion for collecting numbers. I think my Ian Allan Combined Volume was thrown away. 

The scent of privet doesn’t only evoke memories for people, it also attracts pollinating insects that allow fertilisation of the plant in return for the “gift” of nectar. This association evolved way before humans came on the scene, and privet is also used as a food plant by insects, including the privet hawk moth caterpillar (see below), with the dark berries produced in autumn providing food for birds. It is a successful hedging plant because of its vigorous growth and its ability to tolerate some loss of leaves; strategies that evolved to cope with attacks by insects and other animals. But back to privet flowers: “unpleasantly scented” they may be, but they are special for me. Isn’t it strange how smells, transient as they are, can have such a strong effect on the memory? 

(As an aside, it is also of note that privet has been used in folk medicine for centuries, as a means of reducing inflammation [5]. Studies continue to examine some of the component chemicals in leaves and this may lead to the development of new medicines [5,6].)

 

[1] https://rwotton.blogspot.com/2021/06/the-beauty-of-honeysuckle.html 

[2] https://www.rhs.org.uk/plants/10108/i-Ligustrum-vulgare-i/Details 

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

[4] David StJohn Thomas and Simon Rocksborough Smith (1973) Summer Saturdays in the West. Newton Abbot, David & Charles. 

[5] Anna Macková, Pavel Mučaji, Ute Widowitz and Rudolf Bauer (2013) In vitro anti-inflammatory activity of Ligustrum vulgare extracts and their analytical characterization. Natural Products Communications 8: 1509-1512. 

[6] A. Pieroni, P. Pachaly, Y. Huang, B. Van Poel and A. J. Vlietinck (2000) Studies on anti-complementary activity of extracts and isolated flavones from Ligustrum vulgare and Phillyrea latifolia leaves (Oleaceae). Journal of Ethnopharmacology 70: 213-217.

 

The beauty of honeysuckle

It’s the time of year when wild honeysuckle is in bloom and walks along country lanes in the UK, especially if taken in the evening, are accompanied by the sweet perfume released by the flowers. I’m not a believer in aromatherapy, but that scent always makes me feel good and the abundant flowers (see below) are also so attractive to the eye. 

If I was a creationist, I would think honeysuckle was designed by God for my enjoyment, but that wonderful scent is to attract pollinating insects – perhaps why it is stronger in the evening, when more pollinators are on the wing. The production of attractants by plants has evolved on many occasions and it is not just the volatile chemicals that we can also smell, flowers often contain markings that guide the pollinating insects, with their UV-sensitive eyesight, to the nectaries where they can feed on sugary secretions. These are another adaptation of the plant to ensure fertilisation, since the insects pick up pollen when feeding and this is transmitted to other flowers. 

The scent of honeysuckle has associations in folklore and there is a tradition that growing the plant around a porch prevents evil spirits from entering a house or cottage. Another old belief is that it is unlucky to bring honeysuckle indoors as the scent of flowers results in erotic dreams, something not favoured by the parents of girls [1]. This association of honeysuckle and love has been celebrated in paintings, whether in the delicate approaches shown by Devis (below, top) and Bristow (below, second) the overt intent shown by Rubens (below, third), or in the wistful sense of longing portrayed by Chowne (below, bottom). It is a sad irony that Chowne died from wounds during the First World War, having joined The Artists’ Rifles. 

Our love of wild honeysuckle has resulted in the cultivation of many different species, the commonest being three varieties of wild woodbine (Lonicera periclymenum), named “Belgica”, “Serotina” and “Graham Thomas”. It is not known whether the honeysuckle shown in the flower paintings of the Dutch Golden Age was wild or cultivated, but it is given status alongside prized garden plants, including some very valuable tulips. Examples of flower paintings by Ruysch (below, upper) and de Heem (below, lower) show honeysuckle sharing a vase with several other flowers, including the very expensive tulips that resulted in Tulipomania [2]. 

In addition to the power of honeysuckle in giving pleasure and in folklore, the plant is used by humans and other animals. Infusions can be made from honeysuckle flowers and the berries contain chemicals that reduce inflammation after topical application [3], providing an explanation for their use in folk remedies. In addition to these anthropocentric uses, the nectar provides a source of energy for many insects, as described above, and the leaves are the sole diet of the white admiral butterfly [4] that can be seen occasionally in woodland clearings where honeysuckle abounds. 

Such lovely plants – such a beautiful scent! 

 

[1] Steve Roud (2006) The Penguin Guide to the Superstitions of Britain and Ireland. London, Penguin Books. 

[2] https://rwotton.blogspot.com/2020/05/monkeys-and-tulipomania.html  

[3] Marco Rafael, Lillian Barros, Ana Maria Carvalho, Isabel C. F. R. Ferreira (2011) Topical anti-inflammatory plant species: Bioactivity of Bryonia dioica, Tamus communis and Lonicera periclymenum fruits. Industrial Crops and Products 34: 1447-1454. 

[4] https://butterfly-conservation.org/butterflies/white-admiral

  

 

Sources of the illustrations of paintings (in the order shown): 

Devis - http://www.nationaltrustcollections.org.uk/object/207802 

Bristowe - https://wikioo.org/paintings.php?refarticle=AQUHJS&titlepainting=Lady%20with%20Honeysuckle&artistname=Ethel%20Susan%20Graham%20Bristowe  

Rubens - https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Peter_Paul_Rubens_-_Rubens_en_Isabella_Brant_in_de_Kamperfoelie_Bower.jpg  

Chowne - https://artuk.org/discover/artworks/honeysuckle-46448  

Ruysch - https://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/rachel-ruysch-flowers-in-a-glass-vase-with-a-tulip  

De Heem -  https://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/jan-davidsz-de-heem-flowers-in-a-glass-bottle-on-a-marble-plinth

 

 

 

 

Joining a “pick and shovel” road gang

I had the good fortune of being brought up in Torbay and was thus able to ramble around the wonderful South Devon coast and countryside, sometimes during long walks and sometimes on shorter walks after journeys by train or bus [1]. The joy brought by exploring nature offset what was, at times, an unhappy childhood, marked by the illness, and death, of my mother and the serious illness of my father. Always a sensitive child, I was shy and rather sheltered, but that’s not to say I didn’t rebel. Unlike the other members of my family, I was not a Christian, enjoyed rock and roll (especially the Everly Brothers), and developed a strong interest in Bob Dylan and the folk movement that was such a feature of the early 1960s. 

At the end of a chequered career at Torquay Boys’ Grammar School, it was time to apply to University and I was pleased to receive an offer from the University of Reading that, at the time, was strong in both marine and freshwater biology; the subjects I most wanted to study. There was no guarantee that I would achieve the grades required, especially as I always performed badly in examinations, and I had no contingency plans if I failed to gain a place. 

Leaving school in July 1965, I had to wait for the examination results to be published to find out whether I would be going to Reading, so needed a summer job. I had worked previously as a Christmas postman and had washed dishes in fish and chip restaurants (no dishwashing machines then – and chips were made into an old bath tub!). Fortunately, a good schoolfriend, Trev, suggested that I join him in working for SWEB (South Western Electricity Board), where one of his family was employed. A quarry firm wanted unhindered movement through the country lanes, as their usual route was to be blocked by SWEB roadworks. All traffic was to be monitored going into, and coming from, the diversion that was put in place and, to achieve this objective, Trev and I had a walkie-talkie each and he became “Devlec Red 1” while I was “Devlec Red 2”. We were given red flags and, whenever a lorry was “in section”, we called each other, and leapt out to stop all other traffic until the lorry appeared past one, or other, of us.  We were not as efficient as we should have been and there were occasional failures of the system, so it was not something I enjoyed very much. 

My first six weeks with SWEB were very different and left a strong impression on me: it was a time for which I am still very grateful. I was assigned to work in a gang using picks and shovels to dig trenches and then pulling in cables, re-filling the trenches and then covering the whole with tarmac, tamped down with a “Wacker”. A job lasted several days and each morning began for me with a bus ride to the depot to meet up with the gang, get into the lorry and then drive off to the job. Ernie, the ganger, who was a dour and unsmiling character rode in the cab and the rest of us climbed into the back, sitting on benches that were part of a removable shelter that was then taken off the lorry and served as our “home” for the rest of the day. I cannot find any pictures of one of the SWEB lorries of the time, but ours was similar to the one shown below. It is easy to imagine the ropes being released and the canvas shelter being slid off the back of the lorry of this army truck, just as we did when we reached our destination.

I was very unsure of myself on the first day. I knew that I was reasonably fit, but I had never used a pick and shovel and had a lot to learn about technique. Ernie paired me with Bill who was in his early forties, looked tough, and had probably done a few tours in the Royal Marines. His first comment was “why am I always given the rubbish” and, as can be imagined, that didn’t boost my confidence. It was time to just get on with it and, with guidance from Bill, that’s what I did; with Bill and I taking it in turns with the pick and the shovel (he was later to advise me to slow down a bit…). There were morning and afternoon breaks for strong tea, usually brewed up by Wally, and we brought our own lunches that were consumed with more tea. Breaks were occasions for playing 5 card brag and this was, again, a new experience for me and I learned quickly what was meant by a prial and also “Aqua on the belt” (Ace, King and Queen of the same suit). 

Other members of the gang were Frank, who drove the lorry, Pete, who operated the “gun” (pneumatic drill) and there were others whose names I have, regretfully, forgotten after 56 years. What was clear was that I was accepted by all and I really liked, and respected, my workmates. They probably knew that I was taken on to be “Devlec Red 2” in the weeks to come, and they were certainly aware that this was just a vacation job for me (although I would hope to have stayed on should I fail to get into university). Nevertheless, they were great colleagues to have and I had a happy time working with them – and learning from them. The only negative comment that I remember came after Ernie asked me to accompany Frank to get a supply of tarmac; this involving a drive of several miles through the countryside to the depot at Buckfastleigh. This perk was referred to as “having a Rodney” and Bill didn’t seem best pleased that I was selected for the job. 

When A-level results came out, I knew that I would be leaving the gang and going to university in distant Reading. They were very pleased for me and I know that their feelings were genuine. Although I have never had a sense of privilege and entitlement, I knew that I was fortunate in having opportunities that my mates in the gang did not, and was grateful for their open friendliness. After I left, I came across the gang digging a trench in Torbay Road in Paignton and we were all pleased to see each other and chatted happily. It was the last time I met with a group that had a big impact on me – my first experience of the “real world” (apart from my other part-time jobs). I still look back fondly to those few weeks and wonder what became of Ernie, Frank, Bill, Wally, Pete and the others. I also wonder whether they remembered me with the same affection that I felt for them?

 

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

The influence of Sarah Trimmer on young J.M.W.Turner

As a ten-year-old, J.M.W.Turner (JMWT) was sent to live with an uncle in Brentford, probably because his mother was mentally unstable and his sister had a fatal illness. He stayed for about a year [1] and there met Mrs Sarah Trimmer (see above, in a 1790 portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence, held in the National Portrait Gallery), becoming a close friend of her son Henry (three years younger than JMWT), who was later to become the vicar of Heston [2]. Henry Trimmer was an artist as well as a priest and it is thought that he received training in drawing from his mother. She was well-qualified to do so, as she was [3]: 

..the only daughter of the artist Joshua Kirby (1716-1774) and his wife, Sarah Bull (c.1718-1775). She was educated by her father and at Mrs Justiner’s School for Young Ladies in Ipswich. In 1755 the family moved to London; acquaintances there included Thomas Gainsborough, Samuel Johnson, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and William Hogarth. 

A very well-connected lady, then, for an aspiring artist to meet, especially as her father had also been tutor in linear perspective to the Prince of Wales (later George III), a subject that was to interest JMWT. We do not know how frequently JMWT visited the Trimmer home, but Sarah Trimmer’s interests in education, and in art and nature, must have influenced him. Hers was a strong voice in the way children should be taught in the early Nineteenth Century and she published influential books [3]: 

Although Trimmer advocated conservative views, later students of educational methods and children’s books credit her with two innovations that became commonplace in the nineteenth century. She popularized the use of pictorial material in books for children.. [and] ..Trimmer’s other innovation was the use of animals, birds, and the natural world in stories she called fables.  

Perhaps her best-known book was An Easy Introduction to the Knowledge of Nature and Reading the Holy Scriptures adapted to the Capacities of Children published in 1780, five years before JMWT went to stay in Brentford. Given that the book was aimed at children and their education, it must have been a topic of conversation in the Trimmer household and one imagines that JMWT read the book and perhaps discussed its contents with both Henry and Sarah. What would JWMT have made of the following passages [4]: 

The trees and plants in general would die without air; and we should have no winds, which are very useful, as I told you before, in respect to blowing the ships along, and driving the clouds about, so that they may break and fall in different places on the dry land, instead of returning back to the sea, from whence the sun draws the vapours that form them. The wind is a great stream of air, and though it sometimes does mischief, yet it is of great use, as the air would become extremely unwholesome if it were to remain still and motionless. 

Neither is the world all land; for there are vast hollow places between the different kingdoms, and they are filled up with water. The largest waters.. ..are called oceans, lesser ones seas, and there are others yet smaller, which run in among the land, that are called rivers; there are, besides, smaller pieces, called ponds, ditches, brooks and others.. ..These generally spring out of the earth, and are at first only little streams, but run along till they join with others, and are increased by the rains that fall, and so in time become great rivers like the Thames. 

It is likely that it was Sarah Trimmer who took JMWT to Margate [1], accompanying her children, as her son John was ill with consumption and sea air was thought to be good for the health, especially for lung diseases. Imagine then how a woman who could teach drawing, who was familiar with the London art world, who believed in the importance of illustrations in books [3], and who wrote a book about education that encouraged children to look at all aspects of the natural world, would have on JMWT. 

Familiar with ships on the Thames, he now saw the sea, and boats setting sail on longer voyages. These images must have made a strong impression on the young boy and spurred his need to record what he saw. Some watercolour paintings of Margate, from a little after JMWT’s initial visit, survive and one is shown below. I have no idea whether this was one of the pictures that appeared in his father’s shop, and which exposed JMWT’s work to potential buyers and those who could enhance his prospects as a budding artist, but one could easily imagine that such a precocious talent was recognised by those who saw these early works. 

If Sarah Trimmer was an influence on the development of JMWT as an artist, and as a close observer of the natural world, her evangelical Christianity seems to have had a lesser significance. Perhaps JMWT found this kind of religious thinking to be too limiting for his fast-developing vision and revolutionary spirit? 

[1] James Hamilton (1997) Turner: A Life. London, Hodder & Stoughton 

[2] http://www.bhsproject.co.uk/families_trimmer.shtml#HST 

[3] Barbara Brandon Schnorrenberg (2004) Trimmer [née Kirby], Sarah. https://doi.org/10.1093/ref:odnb/22740 

[4] Mrs Trimmer (1780) An Easy Introduction to the Knowledge of Nature and Reading the Holy Scriptures adapted to the Capacities of Children. London, Dodsley.