A darwinian fest

Triggered by watching a film a week or so ago called Creation, a pick me up from somewhere or other, certainly not bought for a proper price. Not, I thought, a terribly good film, dragging in the middle with rather too much water cure, but it did serve, once again, to trigger a darwinian fest.

There was some precedent in that, some years ago, I read, forgot and still own a book about Darwin and his barnacles, written, as it happens, by a former colleague of my brother's. About all I remember about it is that there are a lot of different sorts of barnacles, surprisingly various, with some of the males living inside the corresponding females. While a quick peek this morning reveals the rather different sort of fact that Darwin, while comfortably off, was not above speculating in railway shares, the makers and breakers of many fortunes in the nineteenth century.

But that had nothing to do with picking up the creative DVD. Was there some association to our university of creation here at Epsom (it does result in a very large art department in our local library), noticed recently for its failure to create its own logo? In any event, from there we moved to his and hers reading from the library, reference 2 for her (the book of the film) and reference 3 for him (an easy going, regular biography by a retired journalist with a passion for Darwin). Not terribly satisfied with either we then moved onto what I thought would be a less easy going biography by one Julian Huxley, whom I thought, correctly as it turned out, to be the grandson of the Huxley who starred in the film and the brother of the one who wrote about brave new worlds (and, I was reminded today, families of dwarfs), but which turned out to be an engaging Thames & Hudson picture book co-authored with one Kettlewell. This has now been given house room in our lead bookcase along with the barnacles and the DVD.

A few new to me facts from all this. That the scientific world was awash with stories about creation and evolution in the mid nineteenth century; the time was ripe. That both Darwin and his father married first cousins, not quite the thing these days - although his wife turned out to be a treasure in other respects. Then Darwin was chronically ill with some still undiagnosed abdominal complaint for most of his life, despite going in for looked like (in the film) frightful water cures. He started out as a gentleman amateur, on the strength both of talent and talents, by which last I mean family money. He could bring up a big family in what would now count as a big house without ever having to earn a living. All of which combined with a little (duly acknowledged) help from one Alfred Wallace to bring the origin of species into the world when he did,

Next stop, the Darwin family residence, Down House in Kent. A place which I imagine will come across in much the same way as Hardy's house on what is now the outskirts of Dorchester (see reference 5). With the sixty four thousand dollar question being, do they do a jigsaw of the place?

Reference 1: Darwin and the Barnacle by Rebecca Stott.

Reference 2: Annie's Box by Randal Keynes.

Reference 3: Charles Darwin by Cyril Aydon.

Reference 4: Charles Darwin and his World by Julian Huxley and H. B. D. Kettlewell.

Reference 5: http://psmv2.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/jigsaw-20-series-2.html.