Pix & quotes: The Chelsea Physic Garden

apothecary coat of armsThe Chelsea Physic Garden was established in 1673 by the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries. It lives on four acres of prime London real estate on the banks of the Thames across from Battersea Park (which wasn’t there in 1673.) A brick wall with three gates surrounds the garden. The iron gates leading to the Thames Embankment are usually closed, but they bear the Apothecaries Coat of Arms, which has moved up to Number One on my list of favorite coats of arms, which I started in order to put this guy at the top. Gorgeous!

I’m mainly going to write about the garden, but I must pause to find out about this coat of arms. It was granted in 1617, soon after the society received its charter. Apothecaries had formerly been lumped in with grocers, which naturally no one could tolerate forever. Although consider it: is lettuce a vegetable or an herb? It’s cool and can thus be used to abate fever or lust, as required. Or tossed in a salad – your choice.

The golden guy is Apollo, who is shown defeating pestilence, which is represented by a wyvern, aka a dragon. Overcoming looks a lot like riding, but maybe that dragon had a sensitive back. Wikipedia doesn’t tell me what the pig is for. Not the Bacon family, that much is certain.

Training grounds

Sir Hans Sloane
Sir Hans Sloane

The Apothecaries needed a place close to London where they could grow herbs, their principal stock in trade. They wanted land on the Thames because that was the handiest way to move things around back then. There was only one bridge over the Thames in London until the nineteenth century. The site had been used for market gardens, so the soil had been tended.

They also used the gardens to train apprentices to cultivate and recognize the materials of their trade. One of these apprentices, an Irishman named Hans Sloane, began his studies there in 1680. I’ll just quote his story from Bailey’s excellent book.

“After qualifying in 1687 Hans Sloane travelled to Jamaica to serve as private physician to the second Duke of Albemarle. Two years later, he returned to London armed with a special recipe and bottles of a compound, sourced from plants, which would go on to make him a fortune. The recipe was for milk chocolate – a drink he had seen Jamaican mothers give to children with colic – and the compound, sourced from the tropical tree Cinchona pubescens, was quinine – a medicine capable of preventing and curing malaria.”

Chocolate and quinine! Cures for whatever ails you.

Sloane did so well he bought the whole Manor of Chelsea in 1722, including the garden. In gratitude, he rented the land to the Apothecaries in perpetuity for £5. Yes, that’s five pounds, and that’s exactly how much is paid annually for those 4 acres today, to Sloane’s descendants. Some of them must gnash their teeth every year when they see that payment being rendered. Others undoubtedly smile and say, “This is what wealth is for.”

Garden of Medicinal Plants

Belladonna
Belladonna

The Garden is divided into “themed rooms” such as “Medicinal Plants” and “British Native Plants.” They have plants both early modern and ultra-modern, including some native to places as far away as Madagascar, like the Madagascar periwinkle (Catharanthus roseus), used to treat leukemia.

As I recall, this is the section that includes the poison garden, but Bailey doesn’t mention that. Too exciting, one supposes. Damn straight, says this Texan. I write historical mysteries. Poison is far and away the handiest method for removing pesky persons from your path and I like to know what things look like.

Of course, most of the poisons you’d find in an apothecaries’ garden have non-lethal uses as well. It all depends on the dose or the part of the plant.

Shown here is belladonna (Atropa belladonna), aka deadly nightshade. A few drops will dilate your pupils, a mark of beauty in more bizarre times. It has also been used as a pain reliever, muscle relaxer, and anti-inflammatory.

digitalis
Digitalis

Don’t try it at home! Its effects are unpredictable. The poison can be absorbed through the skin, which is what I was looking for. (For fictional uses only!!) Ingesting any part of this plant can cause dizziness, dry mouth, flush, nausea and vomiting, visual impairment, increased heart frequency, agitation and raving, followed by weakness and sleepiness, breathing compression and death. The overdose level for an adult is only 600 mg. That’s 0.02 ounces or 1/12 of a teaspoon. Yikes!

Another plant I happened to take a picture of is digitalis. We all know that one. Ugly in September — sorry about that. It used to be a type of figwort but has been reclassified as a plaintain ** – Plantaginaceae digitalis, aka foxglove. There are 20 subspecies.

It’s been used to treat heart conditions since 1785, which seems late to me, but what do I know? Give someone an overdose (another tiny amount) and they will suffer nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, the appearance of blurred outlines (halos), drooling, abnormal heart rate, cardiac arrhythmias, weakness, collapse, dilated pupils, tremors, seizures, and even death. Phew!

garden signage
Love that educational signage!

**They’ve had to reclassify boatloads of plants and animals too, one assumes. Things used to be classified by morphology — their shapes, mainly — but now can be more accurately related through their DNA.

I learned this fascinating thing (fascinating to a former archivist, anyway) at the Chelsea Physic Garden. You never know what you’re going to learn when you enter into a place full of marvels!

 

 

 

Garden of Edible Plants

hops
Hops

Of course everyone loves the veggies. These beds were very attractive in early September.

The first picture is of a fine supported hops plant. This might have been in the herb garden, actually. You can use hops to make beer — everyone knows that. You can also use them to treat anxiety, restlessness, and insomnia. Hm, beer will do that too, if you drink enough of it.

Then we have an example of a Ward case, used to transport delicate plants and seedlings across the vasty seas in sailing ships. I have often wondered how they managed it. They built small, portable greenhouses. Clever!

ward case
Ward case

 

 

 

 

 

We could wish people had known about invasive plants back in those days, but hindsight is notoriously clearer than the regular kind of sight. 

 

Garden of Useful Plants

I was less interested in useful plants, since nobody reads novels about amateur sleuths who go around helpfully building things for people and weaving garments. But I did take one picture answering the question you’ve always wondered about but didn’t know you did: What’s the most useful plant?

My first guess was hemp, but I was wrong. I’ll bet half of y’all instantly thought, ‘hemp.’ The rest were too busy calming their anxieties with beer. Anybody guess bamboo? If so, you win the Sir Francis “Smarty-Pants” Bacon title for this day. And now I really want a bamboo bicycle.

most useful plant

Still More Kinds of Plants

fernFrom the early eighteenth century, the Garden has been a leading center for botanical plant exchange, worldwide. Medical men, apothecaries, and adventurers brought back specimens to be studied and preserved in this beautiful, honored place. One such adventurer was Sir Joseph Banks, 1st Baronet, GCB, PRS (19 June 1820), an English naturalist, botanist and patron of the natural sciences. I asked the guide if the Lady Banks rose, of which I have two, was named after Sir Joseph’s wife. She didn’t know, but I’m happy to report that indeed it was. Rampant, evergreen, gorgeous, and usually way out of bounds, we love our Rosa banksiae

The Garden has these “themed rooms” in addition to the three I’ve mentioned: Pond Rockery, Dicotyledon Order Beds, Atlantic Islands Border, British Native Plants, South American Plants,greenhouse World Woodland Garden, Monocotyledon Beds, and History Beds. They also have three glass houses sheltering even more exotic plants, like cactus from the American southwest. You know I didn’t take a picture of that!

The neighborhood

The nearest tube stop is Sloane Square, in case you’re interested. Herds of famous people have lived near it, according to the list of blue plaques in London. Chelsea is, or was, a favorite neighborhood for the creative types. Here are a few: Hillaire Belloc, Samuel Becket, twain plaqueGeorge Eliot, Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell, Lillie Langtry, A.A. Milne, Bram Stoker, and Mark Twain. I can’t imagine a writer living near such a garden and never visiting it.

If you ever get to go, do take the tour. It’s enlightening! You can stroll around to your heart’s content afterwards, and then have refreshments at the very pleasant cafe.

References

Bailey, Nick. 2015. Chelsea Physic Garden. Severn. [The booklet from the gift shop.]

Victorian: English Criminal Justice in the Nineteenth Century

I keep searching for the Dummies Guide to English Criminal Justice in the Nineteenth Century, but it doesn’t seem to exist. There are books about the history of the police and oceans of books about a bucketful of scandalous crimes – so many that I now scan for the name ‘Florence Maybrick’ (an excessively famous poisoner). If I see it in the table of contents, I move on along.

So when I found David Bentley’s book in the UT card catalog, I danced for joy. Alas, it isn’t quite the handy guide for mystery writers that I’m dreaming of, but it is interesting. I’m going to give you some of the highlights.

Bentley begins his preface thus: “This is a book for lawyers and historians interested in the evolution of our criminal trial system.” Note the emphasis on the trial. I need soup to nuts — from the first constable to arrive on the scene to sentencing, with a minimum of legalistic detail and sources relegated to the back of the book. Sigh.

How they were tried

If I were writing about a nineteenth century lawyer, I would love this book for its clarity of exposition. I criminal justicelearned more about a few things I only vaguely knew, including the proper use of some legal terms.The first distinction is between the two types of trial, summary and indictment. Summary trials are those without a jury: the judge decides the case alone. In the U.S., any crime punishable by six months of incarceration or more requires a jury trial. We don’t write novels about petty crimes, so let’s move on.

All serious crimes were and are tried on indictment. (Note that ‘on.’) The indictment is found by a jury… after hearing the Crown witnesses. The accused is arraigned upon it.” If the accused pleads guilty, a jury is empanelled to try him. ‘Arraigned upon an indictment’ is the phrase I didn’t know. It’s got rhythm. It sounds like the start of a poem.

Before 1800, the evidence for the Crown was presented first. “Of their evidence the accused had no forewarning. He is allowed no counsel to defend him. Lest he detect a flaw in the indictment, he is refused a copy of it. There are no rules of evidence. The accused is not always confronted by the witnesses who speak against him. Confessions obtained from him or his accomplices by torture are not only admitted in evidence but regarded as particularly cogent proof. He cannot himself give sworn evidence nor can he call witnesses. For his defence he is obliged to confine himself to disputing with witnesses and the prosecutor. During this altercation he may be questioned both by the judge and prosecuting counsel.” (p. xiii.)

Yow. Let’s remember that next time we complain about the law’s delay. But don’t you love Bentley’s prose?

In 1836, the Prisoner’s Counsel Act gave the accused the right to be defended by counsel or attorney and to have witnesses examined and cross-examined by them.

“Throughout the nineteenth century, the protection conferred upon the accused by the law of evidence was substantial. Not only did the law cast the burden of proof on the prosecution, it excluded rigorously excluded hearsay, involuntary confession, and evidence of the accused’s bad character. It also insisted that juries be cautioned about the danger of convicting without corroboration where the charge was perjury, or where the evidence came from an accomplice or a rape complainant (p. 205.)”

Crimes and punishments

bondi beach
Bondi Beach

“At common law, felonies were crimes conviction for which resulted in an automatic forfeiture of all the felon’s properties to the Crown. They were ‘venomous’ offences which ‘cost a man his property.” (p.2)

In the thirteenth century, there were only 6 felonies: homicide, larceny, robbery, burglary, arson, rape. Three violent crimes, two crimes against property, and arson, your well-rounded crime that harms both persons and properties. Felonies were added to the statutes at a pretty good clip over the next 400 years. By 1800, there were 200 on the books.

While all felonies were technically punishable by death (hanging), few felons hung. The Crown had the power to commute the sentence to something less dire, like transportation. Death or Down Under: which would you choose?

Whipping prisoners ca. 1907
Whipping prisoners ca. 1907

You might try pleading your clergy. After Becket was murdered, Henry II was forced to allow the church to try its own criminals. In early days, just being able to read was proof enough. Who else would bother to acquire that useless skill? By the fifteenth century, laymen were getting in on the game. Ben Jonson escaped hanging by reading the neck verse (Psalm 51, verse 1) when he was arrested for killing a man in a duel in 1598.

They stopped handing felons over to the church in 1576, giving them a year in one of London’s hospitable prisons instead. They didn’t have Australia yet, poor things.

The list of offenses that were “clergyable” shrank slowly over the centuries, along with the number of felonies punishable by death. It surprises me how slow this process was. Drawing and quartering was only abolished in 1870, although it hadn’t been used since 1820. (1820!) Benefit of clergy was abolished in 1827.

Public whippings were abolished in 1861. Floggings thenceforward were carried out in the prison yard, with the press in attendance. There was lots of fighting about flogging over the century, reducing it mostly, but adding a few crimes as well. Living on prostitution was made whippable in 1898.

Transportation ended in 1860 when the Australian colonies refused to accept any more convicts. Penal servitude replaced it, originally designed to reproduce the experience of living on a penal transportation ship. Shiver me timbers!

Public hanging was abolished in 1860, again moving behind prison walls. By 1870, imprisonment had become the normal punishment for all but the pettiest and the most horrible crimes.

Apprehension

British constable in 1872.
British constable in 1872.

Robert Peel created the Metropolitan Police Force in 1829. I’ll blog about police in England at length later. It’s a good topic for my newfound pleasure in comparing the sixteenth and nineteenth centuries.

Once they’ve caught their offender, they bring her/him to the magistrate’s court. “Where the crime alleged was indictable the magistrates would conduct a preliminary examination, committing the accused for trial where the evidence established a prima facie case of guilt. If the offense was summary, they would try the case themselves.”

In cases of suspected homicide, the coroner could also commit an accused for trial. The coroner was obliged to hold an inquest into all suspicious deaths occurring in his district. He sat with a jury of 12-23 local citizens (men.) All witnesses who might have something useful to contribute were summoned to give evidence. This was all taken down in the form of written depositions.

Much of this was also reported nearly verbatim in the local papers, which we can read today, if we wish. The British Museum charges to access their newspaper archives online, unless you happen to be sitting in their reading room, but you can find lots of goodies in the Old Bailey archive. And there are lots of scenes of inquests lurking about in my visual memory. Agatha Christie novels and the movies made from them, probably. They held inquests in any sufficiently large place, often a tavern.

Law of evidence

This is what I was originally looking for. I have these fiendishly clever murders that my protagonists fear they can never prove in a court of law. So I needed to know what sorts of evidence were allowed in 1886. Bentley gives me more than I can use without answering my specific questions, but that’s the sad truth about researching a novel. You learn as much as you can and then take that little leap.

It surprised me that lawyers had so little role in criminal trials right on into the nineteenth century.

In 1800, it was unusual for either side to be represented by counsel, except in cases of treason. The accused had the right to cross-examine witnesses and at the end, the judge would call upon him to ‘make his defence.’ He could not give evidence on his own behalf, but he could call witnesses, either to fact or to character. This is new, part of the developing law of evidence. Other new elements were that the Crown bore the burden of proof, more rules concerning hearsay and involuntary confessions, and the practice of warning juries against convicting on uncorroborated accomplice evidence.

In 1800, England had no system of public prosecutors. Prosecution was regarded as a private rather than a public responsibility: ‘a matter for the victims themselves or other private individuals who could be persuaded to take a sufficient interest in the matter.’ … Even in 1900 England still lacked a national system of public prosecutors (pp. 83-4).”

The other thing that surprised me is that police were not allowed to speak to prisoners, much less interrogate them. That practice derived from their concern about involuntary confessions.

“One of the main exclusionary rules inherited by nineteenth-century judges was that rending involuntary confessions inadmissable. In Warickshall in 1783, the judges had defined an involuntary confession as one ‘got by promises or threats’… (p.221.)”

“Perhaps the most bizarre of all was the line of cases which fashioned an inducement out of the forms of caution in daily use by police officers and magistrates. The starting point of this line of authority was Drew (1838), where Coleridge J held that to caution a person that anything he said would be given in evidence for or against him constituted an inducement. It might, he explained, lead the prisoner to put forward an untrue story which he believed would help him at his trial (p. 223).”

This is hard to wrap my brain around, until I look at it the other way. We’ve had convictions in the US based on confessions elicited by the police that were later found to be false. Confessions made by frightened people trying to please their angry, important interrogators. It’s a problem, because interrogation is an important tool for the police in our times.

Victorians were more worried about criminals getting away with their crimes than with false convictions. We must also remember that it took the better part of that century to transfer responsibility for investigating crimes from the magistrates to the police. Remember, anyone could pursue a criminal and bring them to the attention of their local justice. The magistrate or coroner would then call witnesses to be deposed and evaluate whatever evidence the accusers could assemble.

Witnesses were the important part. There wasn’t much in the way of forensic evidence until the end of the century, and juries didn’t like it. It looked like so much hocus-pocus.law&order svu

Police were discouraged from questioning prisoners, or even getting into conversations with them. They were legally forbidden to do so by the Metropolitan Police General Orders of 1873. These orders “prohibited any attempt by officers or others to extract a statement in the nature of a confession from a person brought to a police station on a charge of felony…” By 1882, that had evolved to “clear terms that it was wrong for an officer to question a person who was in custody or whom he was about to arrest (p. 231.)”

Well, there goes the best half of Law & Order! No wonder they didn’t have television in the nineteenth century.

References

Bentley, David. 1998. English Criminal Justice in the Nineteenth Century. London: The Hambledon Press.

Bacon's Essays: Of the Vicissitude of Things

In times of turmoil, we can turn to Francis Bacon, who lived through some tumults in his own time, on the small scale and the large. He rose through hard work, persistence, and an unwavering faith in reason and moderation. He was Lord Chancellor, the highest judicial position in the land, for five years, appointed by King James I. He performed admirably by all accounts (his contemporaries and historians through the ages agree), but was cast down by envious, angry men who didn’t dare blast at their real targets, so they blasted Bacon instead. It hurt him horribly, but he accepted the loss, went quietly home, and laid the foundations of the Enlightenment.

I’m writing this on Nov. 9 and I’m too dismayed to write about the next essay in line, Of Cunning. Ouch! The one after is Of Wisdom for a Man’s Self, which is about not being self-centered, but about focusing on how you can serve others. Again, ouch! So I’m jumping all the way to the end to write about the penultimate essay, Of the Vicissitude of Things. On days like today, it helps to take the long view.

There is no new thing upon the earth

cosmic historyThat’s what Solomon said. It seems like an odd statement for a prophet. Talk about undercutting yourself. “Beware! Beware! Things are going to remain more or less the same most of the time!”

He’s right, of course. Wherever we are, we as a species have been here before, except for climate change, which is strictly post-industrial.

Bacon found two things that are constant — “that the fixed stars ever stand a like distance one from another” and “that the diurnal motion perpetually keepeth time.”

Well, shucks! That first one is gone, thanks to the Big Boom and the perpetual motion of all things everywhere always. In Bacon’s time, they were still laughing at the absurd idea that the earth might actually rotate around the sun. Even smarty-pants like Francis Bacon thought it just too unlikely. The sun does still keep time for us, by definition, regardless of which revolves around what.

If we’re going to let in things that are fixed by definition, we have vastly more of them than Bacon hadmeter. The currencies may rise and fall in response to current events, but the meter remains the same. Phew! Weights and measures generally, worldwide — the opposite of Bacon’s day, in which your mileage could vary from town to town,. Except for essentials like wool and money. Here’s an effort from England in the 12th century: “By the Consent of the whole Realm of England, the measure of our Lord the King was made; that is to say, That the English Peny, called a Sterling, round and without clipping, shall weigh xxxii Wheat Corns in the midst of the Ear.” It’s wise to carry a few representative wheat corns around with you, for comparison.

captain kirk
Battered, but not beaten

 

Unicode (the international character set) can also be relied upon through thick and thin. Electricity still flows. Volts and amperes retain their values. So my TV still works and so does the internet. Things that were still are, mostly, so I can stream all five Star Trek series in the evening, every evening, until I feel better.

Solomon also said, “That all novelty is but oblivion.” Meaning, it’s only new because we forgot about it, like timeworn vaudeville jokes being recycled in Disney movies.

Bacon explains it less cartoon-dependently: “Whereby you may see, that the river of Lethe runneth as well above ground as below.” Big wheel keep on turning.

 

 

The vicissitude of mutations in the superior globe

copernican-systemThis is from one short paragraph that Bacon treats as a slight digression, but I totally dig that phrase. Put it on a t-shirt; it’d be a real conversation starter. The superior globe is the super-lunary sphere — the universe as known in the sixteenth century, to all but a fringe group of astronomers.

Bacon mentions Plato’s Great Year, which turns out still to be a working concept. NASA defines it thus: “The period of one complete cycle of the equinoxes around the ecliptic, about 25,800 years […] also known as [a] Platonic Year.”

And to think I had never heard of it! I haven’t got a thing to wear.

Bacon mostly laments the lack of knowledge in his time — a constant theme for him (and us.) He says, “Comets, out of question, have likewise power and effect, over the gross and mass of things; but they are rather gazed upon, and waited upon in their journey, than wisely observed in their effects.” You can’t know what things actually do unless you keep track of their actual effects, he said over and over again.

A few people were already keeping track in his time (like Tycho Brahe), but not in England. In England, they were too busy bickering about religion. Good thing we’ve gotten past that one, huh?

The vicissitude of sects and religions

Having contemplated the stability or otherwise of the natural world, we move on to the logical next topic: humans and their endless conflict. Bacon believed there was one true religion — his: “The true religion is built upon the rock; the rest are tossed, upon the waves of time.”

We can relate this section of the essay to our times by substituting something like “the rule of law” for “the one true religion.” That’s more appropriate for the multicultural world we live in.

Bacon writes, “When the religion formerly received, is rent by discords; and when the holiness of the professors of religion, is decayed and full of scandal; and withal the times be stupid, ignorant, and barbarous; you may doubt [expect] the springing up of a new sect.”

I’m just going to let that lie there.

sleeping-dog
The sect of the ultra-voluptuous.

Some of this long paragraph reveals how different our worlds are. He writes, “If a new sect have not two properties, fear it not; for it will not spread. The one is the supplanting, or the opposing, of authority established; for nothing is more popular than that. The other is the giving license to pleasures, and a voluptuous life.”

To the first part — well, yes. If it doesn’t oppose the old authority, it wouldn’t count as a new sect. Self-evident! Circular argument! Error! Error!

The second part is more peculiar. He may include things like righteous anger, self-indulgent ranting and chanting, burning other people’s barns and cutting down their maypoles under the heading “voluptuous.” Any kind of emotional over-indulgence would count under that heading for the cool-tempered, rational Francis Bacon.

I can’t think of a single revolutionary sect that has fought for softer couches and more snacks. It sounds terrifying though, doesn’t it? The Rise of the Labradors! Fear ye, all ye who value– Zzzzzzzz.

Ending on a up note

carouselThere are three long paragraphs about the vicissitudes caused by war and about weapons that I just can’t dwell on today — or any day. War tears things to bits, we all know that. In fact, wars trash things so badly nowadays it’s hard to tell if anyone ever wins.

But here’s the Francis Bacon I love: “Surely there is no better way, to stop the rising of new sects and schisms, than to reform abuses; to compound the smaller differences; to proceed mildly, and not with sanguinary persecutions; and rather to take off the principal authors by winning and advancing them, than to enrage them by violence and bitterness.”

You know that’s right.

And his parting shot: “But it is not good to look too long upon these turning wheels of vicissitude, lest we become giddy. As for the philology of them, that is but a circle of tales, and therefore not fit for this writing.”