Thursday, 7 October 2010

Gideon Mantell: Pioneer of Palaentology

Since the blog's been a bit quiet lately, and I have little that is new and interesting to write about at the moment, here is a lazy post consisting of a transcript (with some minor editing and additions, and obviously much of the show-and-tell aspect removed!) of the talk I gave at the museum a few months ago about Gideon Mantell. Enjoy!

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Gideon Algernon Mantell was a county doctor with a practice in his hometown of Lewes, Sussex, where he was born in 1790. He was an excellent surgeon and midwife...at a time when up to 1 in 30 women died in childbirth in hospitals, Mantell lost only 2 patients in over 2000 births.

He was also passionate about the infant science of geology, having collected rocks and fossils from local quarries since he was a boy. At this time geology really was a very new science: it was only in 1654 that Archbishop Ussher used the chronology of the bible to date the creation of the world to the night before 23rd Oct 4004BC, and this was for at least the next hundred years the prevailing view. It was only in the late 18th/early 19th century that people really began studying the rock strata, and realising that they must have taken much more than 6000 years to form (although they had no way of dating the rocks at all, since carbon dating wouldn’t be discovered for a couple of hundred years!).

Mantell acquired a huge fossil collection, largely relying on local quarrymen, who he paid to provide him with material. But after the publication of his first book on the Geology of Sussex word started to get around of the fabulous bones to be found in the Tilgate Forest quarries, and he suddenly had competition for specimens. He was much vexed when a local amateur collector began outbidding him for fossils, writing in his journal, “…Drove to Cuckfield, and endeavoured to obtain some fossils from the quarrymen who have been employed by me so many years; but the ungrateful scoundrels refused to let me have one, having found a customer on the spot…It is after all a very cruel affair: when there are thousands of quarries in England which would be equally productive and interesting if persons would but take the trouble to explore them, I must be robbed of the fruits of my industry and trouble!...”.

For many years Mantell was a successful doctor but a struggling amateur geologist; even after the publication of his first book he still struggled to gain recognition from the big names in the field. But amongst his collection he had pieces of bone from impossibly large extinct creatures, which he correctly recognised as reptiles. He took a tooth of one of these creatures to the Hunterian Museum at the Royal College of Surgeons in London. The curator there showed him an iguana that had recently been brought back from the West Indies, and Mantell was impressed with how similar in form the teeth were. The creature was named Iguanodon (meaning ‘iguana tooth’). As it happens, the comparison with iguanas was rather oversold, as the teeth are actually only very superficially similar (as the anatomist Richard Owen took great pleasure in pointing out some years later). But because of the name, at the time Iguanodon was reconstructed to look very much like a giant iguana (see below. Note that the limbs are correctly positioned underneath the body rather than splayed out like a crocodile, although despite the fact that Mantell noted that the forelimbs were shorter than the hindlimbs, this was not reflected in most reconstructions of his time. Also you’ll note the horn on its nose, which is now known to be a thumb spike. And yes, I know I've used this picture in my blog before. But I like it).


Iguanodon was only the second giant reptile to be discovered; the first was described by William Buckland (an eminent geologist) in 1824 and named Megalosaurus. Mantell only very narrowly missed out on naming the first dinosaur...Buckland had been sitting on a specimen of Megalosaurus at the Ashmolean Museum for some years, afraid to publish a ‘giant reptile’ for fear of ridicule, but Mantell’s discoveries spurred him into action and he rushed out a paper shortly before Mantell published his Iguanodon. Of course, when first described Iguanodon and Megalosaurus were not called dinosaurs, because that term hadn’t been invented yet. It wasn’t until 1842 that the term ‘dinosaur’ was coined by Richard Owen. 

The discovery of Iguanodon made Mantell’s name as scientist, and he was admitted to the Royal Society on Dec 22nd 1825. He was very proud of this, writing in his journal “This day I went to London, and at 8 in the evening attended at Somerset House to be admitted a Fellow of the Royal Society...It is with no small degree of pleasure that I placed my name in the Charter book, which contained that of Sir Isaac Newton and so many eminent characters”.

Mantell later discovered the bones of other dinosaurs: the primitive ankylosaur Hylaeosaurus, stegosaur Regnosaurus (known only from jaw fragment discovered by Mantell, pelvic fragment from Isle of Wight), and sauropod Pelorosaurus (a genus with a very confused history, having been given many names by many different people over the years!). He also collected many other fossils including plants, turtles, and ammonites.

Mantell moved his family to fashionable Brighton in the 1830’s, hoping to find a patron who would provide money for further collecting and research. He now had recognition as a scientist, but had yet to make any money from it. He turned his house into a museum, which was made a Scientific Institution and opened to the public in 1836. But it was a commercial failure (partly because Mantell would often kindly waive the entrance fee), and the museum bankrupted him. It was closed only 2 years after it opened, and Mantell was forced to sell his entire collection to the British Museum for the paltry sum of £4000. After everything was moved to the BM, only Iguanodon and Hylaeosaurus were put on display, to Mantell’s great disappointment.

The whole business of setting up a museum in their home, and then having it fail, was very stressful for his whole family, and it put a huge strain on Mantell’s marriage. Fed up of Gideon putting science above her needs, his wife finally left him in 1839.

Mantell spent the last decade of his life in a state of severe ill health. He thought he had a tumour on the spine caused by many years spent stooping over patients, but he in fact suffered from severe scoliosis (curvature of the spine), which left him partially paralysed, and may have been caused by a carriage accident in 1841. He continued to work during this time, visiting patients, conducting research, writing papers and books and giving lectures when he was well enough, but he was in constant pain, taking laudanum, aconite, ether, chloroform, opium etc. frequently (and often at the same time!) as painkillers. He died in 1852 of an opium overdose. At time of his death, Mantell was credited with the discovery of 4 out of 5 then known genera of dinosaur. After he died a portion of his curved spine was removed by Richard Owen and kept at Royal College of Surgeons (until 1969, when it was destroyed due to lack of space). 

These days Gideon Mantell’s name is one that commands great respect among palaeontological and geological circles, but he went without the recognition he deserved for many years, both before and after his death, due at least in part to a vicious smear campaign by a rival of his, the much more famous Richard Owen (a superb anatomist known mainly as the founder of the Natural History Museum in London, and for overseeing the building of the dinosaur models in Crystal Palace Park (a commission originally offered to Mantell, who turned it down due to ill health). If you’ve seen these fantastic models, you’ll know they’re hilariously inaccurate, but they were the best guesses based on the fossils that had been found at the time. They’re also now grade I listed buildings!).

Richard Owen was a very ambitious man, who was determined to be the most famous name in palaeontology. He had no qualms about sabotaging the careers of others to make this happen, and Mantell was just one of his victims. After Mantell’s death, an obituary was published in which he was rubbished as a poor scientist with an overinflated ego, and in which the discovery of Iguanodon was completely taken away from him and attributed to several other scientists, including Richard Owen. It was published anonymously, but it was widely believed to be the handiwork of Owen, an attempt to bury Mantell’s reputation with him. 

Owen’s ruthlessness eventually caught up with him, though, and he was denied the presidency of the Royal Society due to his ill-treatment of Mantell over the years, and was eventually voted off the councils of the Royal and Zoological societies, and the Royal College of Surgeons, over other scandals (including stealing other people’s work and publishing it as his own). In later years he was overtaken scientifically, as evolutionary theory developed and his ideas became outdated. Even the Natural History Museum, built as a temple to the wonders of God’s creation, was hijacked by Darwin and his bulldog Huxley, and it has become a temple to evolution.

Friday, 17 September 2010

Dugong, dugong, it's the cow of the sea-e-e...

...but not, as the song goes, also known as the manatee. If you have no clue to which song I am referring, it is this little slice of awesome:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YXm1ICO8Nec

Dugongs and manatees are actually entirely different creatures, in different Families (Dugongidae and Trichechidae, respectively). And the dolphin is quite a distant cousin actually, not very close - the Sirenia (the Order to which both dugongs and manatees belong) is most closely related to the Proboscidea (elephants) and Hyracoidea (hyraxes). But only very distantly related to the Cetacea (whales and dolphins).

However, it still remains a great song. And it IS known as the cow of the sea (e-e)! So they got something right!

So, why all this talk of dugongs anyway? Well, friends, because I was cleaning one this afternoon! Another week in Zoology, lots more work done! All of the mammal material on display is now catalogued to computer (with beautiful colour photos and everything!), and much cleaner! I have dusted a dugong and hoovered an elephant skull today! Along with many other bits and pieces (including a dolphin skeleton, model porpoise, walrus skull, and a variety of antelope mounts). I feel like I am now made of dust! I suspect I'll be sneezing it up for days! I still feel like I'm covered in it, even though I had a thorough shower as soon as I got home!

What a busy little beaver I've been! Unfortunately, next week I have to go back to my day job. Not that I don't adore my day job, and after all this it'll be positively relaxing, but I have had a lot of fun in the Zoology department. And gained a lot of good experience to put on my CV, too! Bonus.

Thursday, 9 September 2010

Watching The Detectives

I love a good mystery, and working in a museum gives you plenty of them. While trying to electronically catalogue the taxidermied items on display in the Zoology Museum, this week I have come across a couple already, including a black-gloved wallaby that doesn't look like a black-gloved wallaby (it lacks all the characteristic features of the species, but I'm giving it the benefit of the doubt on the grounds that it's a very old specimen and quite faded. I'm trusting that the person who collected it knew a black-gloved wallaby when they saw one - they are quite distinctive!), and a tree shrew that still has me a little baffled!

It is named on its old catalogue card as Tupaia chrysoptera from Malaya (although its display label rather more cautiously has it as 'Tupaia ?chrysoptera'), a species which, as far as I can discover, does not and never has existed. It is not a synonym for any species of tree shrew. And the even older accessions register doesn't help, because while the card catalogue does give an accession number, there is no tree shrew listed in said accession record. Arrgh. So I have been trying to visually identify it, which is not easy on a slightly balding early 1900s taxidermy specimen housed in a large locked glass-fronted display case that won't unlock!

The closest existing name to it is T. chrysogaster, but Google Images couldn't find one of these, and neither could I find a written description, so I cannot compare!
The specimen's only distinctive feature is that it has a dark stripe running down its back, which, as far as my internet searching could tell me, narrows it down to one of two species: T. tana or T. picta. But there is very little information on either of these two on the 'net, or even tree shrews in general. So I might be wrong. I'm not helped by the fact that all tree shrews basically look the damned same!

I'll have to take a trip to the uni library tomorrow. This is one instance where the internet just can't cut it! Books are still useful sometimes. I refuse to be defeated by a dead tree shrew!

Friday, 3 September 2010

Things I've learned working in a museum (part VII)

How to clean an halibut skeleton...

This is a delicate procedure, requiring several paintbrushes of varying size and softness, and a conservation hoover with a long, narrow, flexible attachment (for getting into those hard-to-reach places under the fish's head, fins, and ribs). And also glue, for reattaching those bits that inevitably fall off as soon as you touch them (not my fault - it's a very old, greasy, and fragile specimen!). Et voila! Your halibut is good as new, and ready for re-hanging on the wall.

Yes, folks, it's been a weird week. Spent mostly photographing and editing photos of the museum's displays (lots of them. I took over 600 photos in the end! Some of them re-takes of shots that came out blurry, but that's still a lot of editing!). I have also labelled, bagged and sealed dozens of bird nests and insect store boxes, cleaned an halibut skeleton, written a new label for the halibut skeleton, cleaned the finger smears off the glass tops of the insect display cases, fed the frogs, bearded dragon, millipede and harvest mice...and slept. A lot. It's been tiring! But fun. I may have been so exhausted that I crashed out on the sofa as soon as I got home a couple of nights this week, but at least it was a satisfied 'job well done' sort of exhausted! It's a good feeling to get done in two-and-a-half days things that the curators have wanted done for the last two years! Even if editing photos is a bloody pain in the arse. Not to mention the back, shoulders, and eyes! Staring at a computer screen all day is really not good for you at all! Which is why of course I'm now sitting at home staring at a computer screen, telling you how much I hate staring at computer screens. *Sigh*.

Friday, 25 June 2010

Who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

A departure from museums today, to discuss an interesting article I found today in New Scientist about wolves.

It shows that the idea of a 'pack heirarchy', with a strict pecking order and constant inter-pack competition for resources, is now a very outdated one. It was about 30 years ago that David Mech started publishing papers about the dynamics of natural wolf packs (made up of a breeding pair and their offspring) and how they differ from unnatural packs (made up of several unrelated individuals). You find unnatural packs in areas where wolf hunting is still allowed, as family groups are torn apart and surviving members are forced into coalitions with unrelated wolves in order to hunt. In these groups there is much more competition for food and resources than there is in a family group, because there is much less incentive for cooperation. Sadly, this is now starting to happen in areas that were previously protected, as hunting bans on the borders of National Parks are repealed (including Yellowstone, resulting in the destruction of at least one long-standing and well-studied pack).

In natural packs, the 'dominance heirarchy' idea goes out of the window: a wolf pack made of a family group is more like you'd expect a family to be - the parents are in charge, keeping the children in line, and they are all more inclined to cooperate than argue because they are related. You no longer get the strict Alpha-Omega pack structure that was observed from earlier studies on unnatural packs. But even unnatural packs show how socially adaptable wolves are as a species: where hunting and habitat destruction has reduced population numbers of African Wild Dogs, they are now dying out because they need to live in large family groups to share hunting and puppy-care duties, but wolves are able to make almost any social situation work to their advantage, at least in the short term, and are not so dependent on group living.

It is interesting that family dynamics affect not just inter-pack relationships and behaviour, but also affects the local ecology: in areas where wolves are not hunted and packs are made of family groups, wolves will take bigger prey (including moose), because youngsters are able to learn from their parents the valuable hunting techniques needed, and pack sizes tend to be larger. They also promote diveristy: in areas with intact natural wolf packs you see more songbirds, wildflowers, beavers and amphibians, because they keep down the numbers of large grazers.

A few years ago there was talk of reintroducing wolves to the UK (they were wiped out here in the 18th Century), somewhere in the Highlands of Scotland where they're out of the way of most people and livestock, but it doesn't seem to have gotten any further than talk yet. Which is a shame, because studies showed that wolf reintroduction could have conservation benefits by naturally controlling red deer populations. And I for one would love to hear the sound of wolf howls ringing out over the mountains!

Wednesday, 16 June 2010

Things I've learned working in a museum (part VI)

That public speaking can be fun...

Which is something you'd not have heard me say a few years ago. Public speaking has always been a major phobia of mine. When I was a child, speaking at all was difficult! I was a painfully shy, incredibly frustrating child! I'm still incredibly frustrating to talk to because of my incredible indecisiveness and over-politeness, but that's another issue entirely. The speaking has become easier. A lot of it is just to do with growing up, and some of it is down to practice. Which is occasionally forced upon me, and sometimes done by choice (I'm such a sado-masochist!).

And this week I gave a public talk by choice! The 10 Minute Talk programme at the museum is really nice - it's a short length of time to have to speak for, the audience is usually small, with a smattering of regulars and curators who are there most weeks, so it's a nice safe little environment with not too much chance of embarrassment! The most wonderful thing about giving talks at work is that you are entirely free to talk about whatever you want, rather than having a topic forced upon you, which gives quite a lot of freedom and also allows you to talk about something you're really interested in, and that makes it a much more enjoyable experience all round!

So this week I talked about Gideon Mantell (one of the first real pioneers of palaeontology, and the discoverer of 4 dinosaur species (although two of them are a little dubious these days!)). And I picked out some dinosaur material from our collections to pass round for people to have a good look at (we have some dinosaur material that came from Thomas Brown, a big collector of rocks and fossils, who Mantell exchanged material with over the years. I found some nice Iguanodon and Megalosaurus teeth and limb bone fragments). I had lots of pictures of fantastic 19th Century reconstructions of dinosaurs, like this one (love the dopey expression!):


and I regaled the people with a couple of quotes from Mantell's own journal, which I found on a shelf at our store building, and which started this whole 'wouldn't it be fun to do a talk about Mantell' idea. It's a great read. Between the musings about the weather and lengthly discourses on political matters, it has some fantastic entries, including "Today I saw the exhibition of a learned pig!" and other such gems. Which I didn't actually use, because it was pretty irrelevant! Unfortunately it's a hard book to get hold of, because it had a really limited run when it was published in 1940, and I don't think it's ever been republished.

And I think the talk went well. Everyone said they really enjoyed it, and they didn't look like they were just being polite...and I enjoyed it, which is probably the best indicator that it went well! My hands were visibly shaking a little as I was holding my pictures up, and I was a bit nervous, but in a good way. Not in an overwhelming 'aaarrrgh I can't function' kind of way like when I was younger. I am finally taming the beast! Public speaking still scares me, but it's no longer the horrendous torture that it used to be. And sometimes it can even be...fun! Who knew?

Sunday, 13 June 2010

Things I've learned working in a museum (part V)

That's it's not a job for the faint-hearted...

I've spent some time recently in the Zoology department, effectively volunteering one day a week (but getting paid for it!) to get some experience and help out. And this is what I've been doing (some of the time, anyway):



Pinning insects. Which, when you get past the grossness of the idea of jabbing pins into dead animals, is actually quite fun. Well, as much fun as jabbing pins into dead animals can be! It takes a fair amount of skill, especially with the smaller beetles (some of which have incredibly tough exoskeletons, and getting the thin wobbly pins through their elytra without pinging them across the room is quite a challenge!). You also get to study the insects under a microscope, which is quite fascinating. Live insects I've really never been a fan of, but dead ones are actually quite beautiful. I had a little freak-out when the first insect I had a go at (one of the locusts) moved when I gingerly tried to stab it through the head (well, the thorax really), but after that I was fine. It becomes a mechanical process, and the hands work away without the brain having to think about what it is you're really doing! Which is not really that disgusting anyway. And as the curator pointed out, they've been dead a long time, so they're not exactly going to feel it!

The basic process is really quite simple: 
You have a load of pitfall-trapped insects in a tube of alcohol, you tip it out into a petri dish, choose an insect, dry it off, and stick a pin through its thorax (or elytron if it's a beetle) just to the right of the middle line (so as not to destroy characters that are useful in distinguishing between species). Easy. Except that (as previously mentioned) some of the beetles are a bit of a bugger, and if you get the pin too close to the middle then the wing cases won't sit closed and it looks rubbish. Which I managed to do a few times, but not too many. 

I also got to glue the heads back onto a couple of beetles, which was also pretty challenging, mostly because they were so damn small! And getting the head to go back on the right way up is not easy.

I'm told there are some wet-preserved mammal and fish specimens in the department that are going rather unpleasant and need to be decanted and disposed of as well. Can't wait! Mmm, I love the smell of formalin in the morning!

Friday, 19 March 2010

Things I've learned working in a museum (part IV)

That you don't learn as much from Time Team as you think you do...

You watch Time Team, and you think you're learning everything you need to know about archaeology. You watch Phil knap a chunk of flint into a hand axe, and you think 'I could do that. It looks easy'. You watch him pull a piece of Roman pottery out of the ground and proclaim "'Ere, Tony, I've got a lovely bit of pot for you 'ere" (to be read in a strong West Country accent), and you think it looks simple. Pottery is just pottery, after all. But no, it's really not. It could be samian ware, black burnished ware, coarse ware, slip ware (red or black), it could be a fragment of an amphora, a cooking pot, a cup, a bowl, a mortarium (a mixing bowl - think 'mortar', not 'mort'), or any number of other things. And then you quite often find Medieval green-glazed pottery mixed in with the Roman, too, and it all gets quite complicated.

So I look at a drawer of Roman ceramics in the museum, and my incisive Time Team-trained mind says, "It's a drawer of Roman pottery". And my archaeologist colleague sighs and says, "Yes, but what type of pottery?". And my incisive Time-Team trained mind shuffles its feet in embarrassment and says, "Erm...dunno".

And much the same thing happens when we come across a drawer of stone tools. I see a pile of rocks, my archaeologist friend sees hand axes, arrow heads, scrapers, choppers, burins, points, blades, microliths, pounders, hammerstones, whetstones...the list goes on.

So the last few weeks have been a bit of a steep learning curve for me. I hate to admit that I don't know much about anything (because I'm a smartarse, and I like to know everything about everything!), but it turns out that I know a hell of a lot less about archaeology than I thought. My knowledge of Roman history is pretty good (late Republic and early Empire, anyway), and I naively thought that pretty much equated to knowing something about archaeology. Oh, how wrong I was! I have learned a lot very quickly, and can now identify my Roman pottery and stone tools much better than I could 3 weeks ago (not hard to achieve!), however, I think I'll leave the archaeology to the archaeologists in future. It's interesting, but it's not my area of expertise! I'll take a dinosaur over a pot any day of the week!

Saturday, 23 January 2010

Pet Peeve

While sitting waiting for someone in the museum offices yesterday, I picked up a copy of the Museums Journal (as you do. It just about beats staring at the walls) and it made for interesting reading. One article did, anyway. It listed the results of a phone poll of 3,600 people in London, who were asked how often they visited museums, and which areas of museums interested them most. Quite a few people said they had visited a museum in the last year, or would consider visiting one. Not too surprising (although I have a sneaking suspicion the figure might be inflated - if asked most people will probably say yes...nobody likes to be seen as uncultured!), but it was the figures for 'top areas of interest' that interested me most. At the top of the list, with 82% of people showing an interest, was natural history. Next was ancient history, cultures and civilisation, local history, and then down in fifth (with 66% of people being interested) was famous artists.

Which may not be fascinating to many people, but it intrigues me. One of my pet peeves with museums is the amount of money that gets invested in art galleries compared to other departments. I know that art galleries are important to museum directors because they bring in the most money - art collectors tend to be quite well-off, and they donate lots of money and lovely important works of art. So art galleries get a lot of investment because they are nice cash cows, while other departments remain neglected and understaffed because they bring in very little revenue. I have seen natural history departments left without a single curator to look after the collections because there is no money to replace staff, while at the same time the art sections of the same museums are expanded, and I've seen archaeology displays ripped out to make way for more modern art gallery space (contemporary art only got 47% in the London poll, while ancient history got 78%).

These are the areas that really interest the general public, but they are being sidelined as art becomes more important in museums. It baffles me. Yes, art is important, and I know it makes money, but dinosaurs and stuffed animals and mummies are what children go to museums to see!

And yes, I know I'm biased, because I am a natural historian and obviously I think my subject should be most important, but this seems to be a widespread trend in museums now. And more than anything I find it sad, because kids going to smaller museums these days will see fewer displays on the subjects that really interest them, and be able to learn less about the history of life and of different cultures and all the things that inspire kids to want to go see the world and do exciting things like dig up dinosaurs, or discover new species and lost civilisations, because some of the smaller museums may end up having to downsize their collections as the cost of their care becomes greater than the revenue they create. In the end museums are a business, and everything in business comes down to money.

But most importantly, if natural history is dropped from museums I'll be out of a job!

Wednesday, 20 January 2010

Femurs and Lemurs

I can't guarantee that I'll be able to post new things regularly - I suspect that like a new toy this blog will be loved intensely for about a week and then get discarded and forgotten - but I will try to write at least one post a week (even if I have to resort to writing book reviews, or posting New Scientist stories or something!). So while I'm feeling motivated...


I have visited a lot of museums, but I've only worked (well, worked for money!) in one. And so far it is very much living up to my expectations. I've always had a picture in my head of museum storerooms as being slightly musty, dusty repositories of ancient curios, with endless wooden drawers full of hidden treasures. And that's pretty much what it is really like! Most of the stores are not actually all that dusty (though some of them are a little musty!), and they're incredibly well organised...in a slightly chaotic sort of way!

Which is good, because it means that while the cataloguing and storing of objects by type, age, species, etc. means that you have a fairly good chance of being able to predict what's coming up next, there are always surprises, anomalies that keep you on your toes and make the job extra interesting. Finding something you don't expect is always an amusing diversion, especially when you find a femur that has been labelled as a lemur, or a kangaroo skull that somebody has identified as belonging to a pelican! But these things happen when you have volunteers (who are mostly enthusiastic members of the public with little formal training or education in the relevant subject areas) doing your documentation work for you...It's great having people who are interested and want to do it for free (because most museums are permanently cash-strapped and can't afford to actually hire the staff they desperately need), but it does occasionally lead to these sort of clerical errors because the volunteers don't have the specialist vocabulary required (although a little common sense would have helped in the case of the femur/lemur! And the kangaroo/pelican. I mean, the snout still had some mummified flesh clinging to it, complete with whiskers! It must have been a rare whiskered pelican...).

Not that I'm knocking volunteerism - I did it for two years because volunteering is the only way to get the experience that museums want in their curators. It is something of a catch-22 situation...museums want people with experience, but the only way to get the experience is to work in a museum. So a lot of people end up doing it for free. Like me. And I enjoyed it, and it got me my current job. It took me a while (in the current climate finding a job in any industry is hard!) but I got there in the end. And I'm very glad I did. For a while after I got my job I kept thinking "I can't believe I'm getting paid for this!". I've just about gotten over that now, but it does still strike me sometimes just how lucky I am to have a job that I love (especially when I hear other people bitching about their jobs!). I did this for free for two years, and now somebody wants to pay me to do it. That's amazing.

Tuesday, 19 January 2010

Things I've learned working in a museum (part III)


That paper can be surprisingly heavy...


I thought that the art gallery would be one of the easiest sections of our cataloguing work within the museum. Apparently I was wrong. Due to various issues (involving huge boxes in very narrow aisles stored well above head height and accessible only with a worryingly wobbly ladder) it has turned out to be one of the most problematical areas. I thought that my main issue in the art gallery would be my complete lack of knowledge about art (seriously - I had no idea who Mackintosh was. I now know very well, having catalogued a very large amount of sketches, prints, paintings, wall hangings, wood panels, chairs, wardrobes, stained glass windows, meat safes...CRM was a very prolific man! And very unchoosy in his work. He would do anything. I've seen designs for carpets, furniture, houses, tombstones...you name it, he would design it for you!).

But it turns out that the main issue is just how much paper can weigh! Some of the boxes of prints weigh more than you would think humanly possible, considering that they basically contain PAPER! There are some boxes that even two of us can't move at all. Which is frustrating, because I want to see everything! Every day is like Christmas, opening up the boxes to see what goodies are inside! Even if it is just yet more Turner prints (they're beautiful, but there are a lot of them!).

That art can be interesting...

I know nothing about art because I've never taken much of an interest in art. This is largely due to the fact that I find art galleries boring. And THIS is largely due to the fact that art galleries don't tell you what you need to know...you look at a painting, and next to it will be a panel giving you the artist's name, the title of the work, the techniques used, the artist's influences, etc...but they don't tell you WHAT IT IS YOU'RE LOOKING AT! Which in some cases is easy enough to fathom - a painting of a bloke plowing a field is a painting of a bloke plowing a field (and is probably also entitled 'A Bloke Plowing A Field', or something equally unimaginative). But often it can be a painting of (for example) some obscure bible story, and unless you've read the bible cover to cover you have no clue what it is you're looking at. And they don't actually GIVE you a clue. A brief description of the subject matter would do, but no, obviously too difficult. Which is why I have a very short attention span when it comes to art galleries.

But we have seen some really fantastic things amongst the collections. Every day there are inevitably some things which are just a little 'meh', but then the next box will contain gorgeous colour woodcuts of Scottish landscapes, or 18th Century satirical cartoons, and you don't want to put them away! You can waste a lot of time just admiring the stuff rather than cataloguing it. Or you could, if you had about 10 years to spare! Unfortunately we only have one year in which to go through EVERYTHING, so at some point you have to put things away and move on. Which is always a disappointment, because I'm sure there are lots of beautiful things that I have missed. But there's always the hope that there will be even more beautiful things in the next box...

Things I've learned working in a museum (part II)


That it's not just jam that comes in jars...


I've been working in the Zoology Department for a couple of weeks now.
I started with their store of wet-preserved specimens (i.e. things in jars. Pickled, dead things). And I got to see a lot of amazing species, many of which you don't normally get to see outside of wildlife documentaries. Some of them were quite gross (sea slugs, for example, look much cuter in text books (if they can ever be described as 'cute'!)), but others were quite beautiful (some of the sea jellies (you're not supposed to call them jellyfish any more) were stunning, and the little golden mole was adorable!). And some of them were just completely, nauseatingly, disgusting (such as the 240cm long tapeworm, removed from the bowels of a third-year zoology student in 1979. I do, however, love that they included these details on the label!).

And then there were the oddities...the sort of things you only see in a certain type of wildlife documentary (such as Nick Baker's Weird Creatures). The freaks of the animal kingdom. Like the Australian Thorny Devil (which has the wonderful latin name of Moloch horridus), the Olm (a blind cave-dwelling amphibian with tiny vestigial legs and external gills), and the Surinam Toad...possibly the most disgusting (yet fascinating) thing that we found. And for this reason: once fertilised, female surinam toads carry their eggs on their back, and their skin swells to cover the eggs, embedding them in a sort of fleshy honeycomb. When fully developed, the baby frogs then burst out from beneath her skin, much like something out of Alien.
Unfortunately for these babies, this was the exact moment that they and their mother all got dunked in a vat of formalin. Which makes for a quite macabre spectacle. It has a strange, sort of "car crash zoology" effect...you know it's horrible, but somehow you can't quite tear your eyes away from it.

That while live beetles = creepy, horrible, get-it-away-from-me-now, dead beetles = beautiful...

Except for the few that're still creepy, horrible, get-it-away-from-me-now!
Most of the beetle collection is fascinating, however. Wonderfully exotic colours and shapes. Some of them look like they've been painted with a tiny little brush! Or a much larger brush, in the case of the Hercules beetle, which looks like it could swallow a cat if it was so inclined!
There are beetles that look like spiders, like bees, leaves, thorns, and even frogs! And some quite remarkable beetles that are able to synthesise opal to form part of their wing-cases! And jewel beetles, which don't really look much like jewels, but are beautiful nonetheless. And are actually used to make jewellery! Whole beetles, set in gold and made into earrings and brooches! A classy look, I think we can all agree. Although I suppose it's not so different from the pyritised ammonite that I have on a necklace, so I can't really comment.

The most stunningly beautiful things that I have seen so far on my store room rummagings, however, have to be the butterflies. Some of them are so fragile and delicate that they don't look like they should be able to fly! And they have the most amazing, vibrant colours and patterns. And they're all so different! Except the ones that are the same...There are some butterfly species that are the most convincing mimics of other species that you can barely tell them apart. Some harmless species copy the warning colourations of other, unpleasant-tasting, species, which improves their chances of survival beacuse predators will learn through eating the toxic ones that butterflies with that particular colouration aren't good to eat. And sometimes two or more toxic species will develop the same patterning, benefiting them all by deterring predators.

This is my favourite butterfly so far, the blue Morpho:



(thankyou Wikipedia for the picture!)


Although the picture doesn't really do it justice. There are lost of species of Morpho, in different shapes and hues. The most amazing are the ones that look boring and white until you hold them up to the light, and then they irridesce green/blue/purple/pink. But I couldn't find a good enough picture of one, so you'll just have to use your imaginations!


Things I've learned working in a museum


Firstly, that minerals all have BRILLIANT names. And that mineralogists have no sense of humour. Otherwise they'd have come up with rather less (one suspects unintentionally) hilarious names for their rocks!

My current top five mineral names are:

5. Grossular
4. Silimanite
3. Phlogopite
2. Cummingtonite
1. Spodumene

Always good for a cheap laugh. Especially Cummingtonite (which, disappointingly and rather boringly, takes its name from the town of Cummington in Massivechewsets (Kenny Everett has a lot to answer for), where it was first found). There is very little imagination in the naming of minerals: most are just named for the place they come from, the elements they're composed of, or the person who found them. At least biologists have fun with species names...

For example:

Abra cadabra (a bivalve)
Apopyllus now (a spider)
Ba humbugi (a snail)
Brachyanax thelestrephones (a fly. Translated from the Greek, it means "little chief nipple twister")
Colon rectum (a beetle)
Eubetia bigaulae (a moth. Pronounced 'youbetcha bygolly')
Heerz lukenatcha (a wasp)
Pison eu (another wasp)
Villa manillae (a bee fly)

Proving perhaps not that biologists have a sense of humour, but at least that they think they do. And they certainly have a lot more imagination!

So here we are...

Hello there! Welcome to my blog. Those of you who have seen my Facebook page will already be familiar with the following few posts - apologies for re-using old material, but I'm not a machine, dammit! I will be adding new posts as and when I find something interesting to write about...it may not be very regular (I'm a busy woman!), but I'll try to make it worth the wait!

On with the show!

Rach