Reason for my absence...

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

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

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.

A World Without Cows

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...

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

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

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....