Eyewitness to evolution debate
Dr Chris Fear has nurtured a fascination with fossils and geology since childhood. He still has the Micraster fossil he collected from a Dorset quarry at the age of 9 on a trip organised from Cubs. The early curiosity about prehistoric life and evolution never left him, and was rekindled in the fish fossils of the Devonian in Caithness and Orkney while on a holiday.
Alongside a professional life in medicine, he continued to read, and build up collections of Palaeozoic fossil fish and trilobites. Chris was also fortunate to meet some fascinating people among his patients, one of whom introduced him to Symonds and his struggle as part of the Victorian battles to reconcile biblical Truths with the evidence of the developing sciences of geology and palaeontology.
In retirement, Chris has been able to devote more time to this lifelong interest, bringing together his love of the English landscape, his respect for diligent scholarship, and his appreciation of the Anglican tradition. The story of the Rev. William Samuel Symonds, a Worcestershire rector living at a time of intense debate about fossils, faith, and the age of the earth, is revealed through his many papers and books, including unpublished letters from many of the top scientific minds of Victorian Britain.
His first book researching a clergyman who was an eyewitness to the evolution debate is the result of careful research and the kindness of many individuals and institutions that hold the records of out scientific history. Chris has taken great pleasure in piecing together Symond’s world and presenting the man as a warm and humorous indvidual whose vibrant correspondence with Lyell, Darwin, Hooker, Salter, Murchison, Prestwich and Lydia Miller provides new insights into the changing geo- and theo- logical world of Victorian Britain.
Eyewitness to evolution debate: Future stories
The Marcher Fossil Men
On an unseasonally chilly and overcast August day in 1869, two figures waited to board the paddle steamer Eagle at the Tower pier, a bustling transport hub of Victorian London. The man, thought to be aged about 50, was dressed in a frock coat against the breeze coming off the river, its dark wool slightly tarnished with wear, his top hat old but serviceable. His sunken eyes conveyed a sense of deep thought and weariness; the gauntness of his long narrow face, apparent despite the full beard worn without a moustache, suggested recent hardship. The man had an air of preoccupation, and he was nervously playing with his gold watch-chain as the boy with him tried to engage him in excited conversation about the ships and dock-side traffic.
The boy appeared to be aged about 13 or 14, his white cotton shirt with a small tie and navy Eton jacket were getting tight on him and his clothes were clearly hand-me-downs from an older brother. Talking excitedly to his father, who occasionally nodded in acknowledgement, the boy took in the busy scene – ten boats taking on passengers, paddle wheels turning slowly, funnels belching smoke, the bustle and jostle of passengers boarding, the smell of coal smoke, tar, and river mud and the shouts of “Gravesend! Margate! Ramsgate!”. Going up the gangway, the two figures jostled their way onto the deck of the paddle steamer, moving over to the sponsons, an observation deck on top of the boxes housing the paddle wheels. With the gang plank withdrawn, the steamer eased its way into the channel of the river, avoiding a myriad of other passenger steamers, barges, tugs, ferries, and colliers unloading upriver.
The ship’s paddles slapped the water rhythmically as they propelled it forwards on its route to the Isle of Thanet. The boy joined other passengers leaning over the rail to watch the city slide past: the Tower of London, warehouses, cranes, and the new embankment works. Once past the Pool of London, the river widened, and they picked up speed. Passing the old naval yards and then the graceful buildings of Greenwich Hospital, careful to avoid the short‑ferry steamers double‑ended boats built for rapid pier‑to‑pier service, the PS Eagle stopped briefly at the Greenwich pier to embark more passengers. Then on to industrial Woolwich, the Arsenal dominating the southern bank, with smoke from the foundries drifting across the water.
The steamer’s paddles beat steadily, throwing up white spray as the ship approached the tidal stretch of the Thames beyond Woolwich, the smell of the sea replacing the stink of the city. An hour into their journey, passengers began to relax and take seats as the river widened into the estuary. Some availed themselves of the refreshment counter where they could buy ale, porter, gin, coffee, lemonade or ginger beer to wash down a range of cakes, fruit, bread and cold meat or cheese, and pies – a Victorian staple. Others simply watched the marshes, chalk cliffs and river traffic slide by.
The man remained at the rail; his eyes fixed on the water. His son knew better than to ask for refreshments. At Erith Reach, the tower of Erith church became a landmark for navigation, replaced by Rainham church and then the chalk cliffs near Purfleet, before passing the riverside settlements around Grays. Here, the river traffic thinned, but the boy was still excited by the many tugs, barges, and occasional coastal steamers heading for the North Sea. Approaching Gravesend, the star-shaped fort of Tilbury came into view on the north bank, recently reinforced for heavy artillery to protect the approaches to London against feared invasion by Emperor Napoleon III of France.
As the steamship passed the fort, the man looked up, his face a frown of resolution. William Sowerby Salter, a month shy of his thirteenth birthday, watched as his father, John William Salter, handed the treasured gold watch given to him by Adam Sedgwick to the guard, asked the man to look after the boy, and plunged over the rail.
