Cambridge University Library and those Missing Darwin Notebooks

CUL, looking secure

Astonishing news reaches us that Cambridge University (CUL) has lost two valuable Darwin notebooks.  Even more astonishingly they vanished 20 years ago.  The assumption was that they had been misshelved, and they were only reported missing to the police last month.  A pundit was on the Radio 4 lunchtime news yesterday opining on what he thinks happened.  This is in essence what he suggested:

Regular readers become familiar faces to librarians.  Said librarians are so used to those readers that security becomes less stringent than it should.  Some readers become heavily invested in their research materials to the extent that they develop a proprietorial attitude towards them.  With relaxed security, opportunities arise to make off with said research materials.  Librarians don’t notice.  If they do realise something is not where it should be, they assume it has merely been misplaced and no alarm bells are raised.

What a load of tosh.

I would be amazed if this scenario had occurred.  The following procedure has been in place for many years.  When ordering from the stacks in a CUL reading room, a request slip on carbonless paper is filled in, and it is retained by the librarians while the item is with the reader.  When it is returned to the librarians’ desk, a receipt is handed to the reader and a copy kept for CUL’s records, enabling them to track who has had what.  If someone walked out with material it would quickly become apparent because the sheet to be given back to the reader would still be attached to the library’s copy.  I cannot imagine a librarian dishing out anything without obtaining a filled-in slip, much less valuable Darwin manuscripts.  It is a system designed precisely to prevent theft.

The administrators back in 2000 were unquestionably slack by failing to maintain the requisite vigilance.  According to a Guardian report of 24 November 2020, the notebooks were taken out of storage to be photographed in November 2000 (the photographic unit is in the same building so they did not have to leave the premises), and a routine check in January 2021 noted the box containing them was not in its correct place.  Plainly there was inadequate oversight, but with no indication the manuscripts were requested by a reader in the intervening period.

The librarians complacently assumed they were somewhere about and instituted ‘extensive’ searches for them over the ensuing two decades, a new management team only now, after a final look, conceding they are nowhere to be found.  ‘Extensive building work’ in 2000 has been propounded as a potential scapegoat, hinting at outsiders being responsible, but it seems most unlikely a hod carrier targeted these particular items in an opportunistic theft while nobody was around, or a cat burglar shimmied up scaffolding and prised open a window in the dead of night.

It is worth bearing in mind that a similar situation to the Darwin scandal has arisen before.  In 1989 the archive and rare books of the Society for Psychical Research were transferred from the SPR’s premises at Adam & Eve Mews in London to CUL, because of security concerns.  Rare SPR books were categorised ‘Z’, and I remember long-serving Council member Tony Cornell walking into the building waving a Z book and saying he had stolen it – in order to demonstrate how easy it was to remove them without detection.  This situation led to negotiations for the permanent loan of the SPR’s paper archive (the audio-visual component is housed elsewhere) and Z books to CUL, where they remain today.

Unfortunately, a short time later red-faced CUL officials informed the SPR that several of its rare books had been stolen, though thankfully it didn’t take 20 years to find out.  To their credit they did make efforts to replace the missing volumes as best they could, and following a lengthy internal investigation it was concluded the theft had been an inside job.  The affair was hushed up because it looked bad to have to confess that a member of staff had walked off with valuable property (and in this case belonging to someone else).  No lackadaisical librarian had unwittingly allowed them to be removed by a cunning reader, they were lifted directly from the stacks.  My money is on the Darwin notebooks having gone in a similar manner, the perpetrator taking advantage of their trip to reprographics.

The ‘expert’ on Radio 4 thought they would turn up eventually because their fame makes them instantly recognisable, which is to be hoped for, but he had already argued that readers can become greatly attached to their research objects (though not usually to the extent of taking them home), so they could be sitting in a private library being gloated over.  They may come to light as the result of a sale or be voluntarily returned to CUL, but perhaps only on the death of the holder, a possibility floated by the deputy director of Research Collections who was interviewed by the Guardian.  If that is the case, we could be in for a long wait.

Though I am not an authority on international crime, it seems doubtful they are being used as collateral by organised crime interests because, unlike an old master painting, they will not look obviously hugely valuable to the untutored eye; but I could be wrong.  Let’s just hope they do not suffer the same fate as those rare books boosted from a warehouse while waiting to be shipped off to auction which were found in a damp hole, or have not been seized by disgruntled creationists who consider Darwin to have been Satan’s catspaw and destroyed.  The only positive note in this sorry tale is that the manuscripts have been put online, so at least the contents are still available, even though they do not possess the aura of the missing originals.

The Society for Psychical Research’s electrocardiograph and the Whipple

Courtesy Whipple Museum, Cambridge

On Friday 13 November 2020, the Whipple Museum of the History of Science, one of the University of Cambridge’s museums, tweeted:

 @WhippleMuseum

For #FridayThe13th, it's #MuseumsUnlocked day of demons, devils & ghosts! This #Cambridge Instrument Company portable electrocardiograph belonged to the Society for Psychical Research & was probably used to record the physiology of mediums!

 This was accompanied by two photographs, one a general view of the electrocardiograph, the other a close-up of a plate on the side, which says:

CAMBRIDGE PORTABLE
ELECTROCARDIOGRAPH

[Symbol]

THE PROPERTY OF

SOCIETY FOR PSYCHIC RESEARCH
LONDON

 
I retweeted it on the Society for Psychical Research’s Twitter feed (@spr1882), pointing out that the Society’s name had been spelled incorrectly.  The Whipple responded by asking if I knew why.  I didn’t, and said I would check with the SPR’s archives officer.  He stated it was before his time and he had no idea either.

 

Courtesy Whipple Museum, Cambridge

 

Curious, I sent a private message to the Whipple asking what they could tell me about their acquisition of the device.  They said it was donated in 1976 by someone from the University’s Department of Colloid Science.  Intriguingly, my anonymous correspondent added: ‘I'm afraid I cannot give you their name’ but noted that an online search did not indicate an association with the SPR.  The individual responsible for adding the plate, which looks pre-1976, was obviously not completely familiar with the Society’s name. 

I wondered how this piece of apparatus arrived at the Whipple.  The museum’s online catalogue page states it was built by the Cambridge Instrument Company, Ltd, in 1933, and the symbol in the middle of the plate is the company logo.  Robert Whipple, whose collection of scientific instruments formed the basis of the Whipple Museum, was an early employee, rising to become managing director and chairman of the company.

 The reference to colloid science was a starting point, though it could have been a red herring with no relevance other than that the person last in possession happened by chance to be a member of the department.  However, it proved a fruitful lead, and led me to conclude that there is a strong possibility this device may have been used in experiments with Austrian medium Rudi Schneider, who was tested by the Society for Psychical Research between October 1933 and March 1934.

 The term colloid science appears in SPR publications only once, in the Journal for March/April 1942, referring to the endowment of a studentship at the University of Cambridge to honour the memory of Oliver Gatty, an SPR member.  The studentship was ‘to give an opportunity to scientists of any nationality working in any branch of Science to carry on their work for a year in the Department of Colloid Science at Cambridge, provided that in this work Physics was being used to help Biological Research, or Biology was helping Physical Research.’  Aged only 32, Oliver Gatty was severely injured in a gas explosion while conducting research in Cambridge, dying at Addenbrooke’s hospital on 5 June 1940.  He left a widow, Penelope, and a posthumous daughter, Tirril.

 Gatty worked with Eric Rideal, who was Professor of Colloid Science at Cambridge, and he also worked in the University’s Department of Zoology.  He had joined the SPR in 1933 and became a Council member the following year.  He was a member of ‘the Cambridge Committee’ exploring paranormal cognition; investigated Rudi Schneider with Theodore Besterman, about which they co-authored a paper in the SPR’s Proceedings; and at the time of his death was conducting dowsing experiments.  His obituary in the SPR’s Proceedings stresses his enthusiasm and likeability.

 Oliver’s family background is interesting.  His sister Hester was unhappily married to Siegfried Sassoon.  His brother Richard, who attended one of the Besterman/Gatty Schneider sessions, married Pamela Strutt, granddaughter of John James Strutt, second Baron Rayleigh.  Her uncle, John William Strutt, 3rd Baron Rayleigh, was SPR President in 1919; her cousin Robert John Strutt, 4th Baron Rayleigh, was SPR President in 1937-1938.

 Most of the 1933.34 Schneider sittings took place in a purpose-built seance room at its premises in Tavistock Square, London, not in Cambridge.  They were led by Besterman, the SPR’s Investigation Officer, with his collaborator Oliver Gatty monitoring the equipment.  Besterman and Gatty’s article in the SPR’s Proceedings, ‘Report of an Investigation into the Mediumship of Rudi Schneider’, describes the set-up at length.

 Gatty installed infrared equipment, following a similar arrangement that had been used with some success by Eugene and Marcel Osty at the Institut Métapsychique in Paris during a series of 90 sittings with Rudi in late 1930 and 1931 (which the SPR helped to fund) and in a series of 27 sittings conducted in London by Lord Charles Hope for the SPR between October and December 1932.  The aim of utilising infrared was to see if a psychic emanation from Rudi would interfere with the beam but Gatty did not observe any absorptions, indicating the beam remained unobstructed.

 The Besterman/Gatty report includes the following statement:

 ‘The space C (see plan, Fig. 1) is divided from the cabinet by a solid partition, reaching from floor to ceiling.  It contained a shelf, later two shelves, stretching from wall to partition, on which stood a Moll galvanometer, with its lamp and scale, a cardiograph embodying an Einthoven string galvanometer, a voltmeter and a switchboard. This apparatus was observed by 0. G. [Oliver Gatty], who had to crawl under the lower shelf in order to get to and from his chair.’ (p. 254)

 Later we learn:

 ‘The [photo-electric] cell has an approximate resistance of 1800 ohms and was connected in series to a Cambridge Instrument Co. portable electrocardiograph Einthoven galvanometer having a 1400 ohms gilt glass fibre.’ (p. 279)

 The technology brought to bear on Rudi was highly sophisticated and drew heavily on Gatty’s physics expertise.  Sadly, after the extensive series of 55 sittings with Schneider (including four informal sittings, three held at Oliver Gatty’s home in Lowndes Square, London SW1.), the authors concluded that ‘In the event no phenomena clearly of a paranormal kind were obtained’ (p, 252) so their elaborate procedures were in vain.

 My Whipple informant confirmed that the description in the report matches the device held by the museum: the Einthoven galvanometer is a key element of the Cambridge Instrument Company’s electrocardiograph.  Thus it can be seen that an electrocardiograph manufactured by the Cambridge Instrument Company was employed by Theodore Besterman and Oliver Gatty for these SPR sittings.  The 1933 date for the Whipple’s machine ties in with the start of the experiments in October the same year.

 It is a reasonable assumption that the Whipple’s electrocardiograph is the one used in the Schneider sessions.  Oliver Gatty moved to Cambridge, having been there for several years before his death according to his obituary in the SPR’s Proceedings.  It is likely he took the electrocardiograph with him and it languished in his department for nearly four decades until a member of staff donated it in 1976.  Whoever was responsible for arranging the transfer, the survival of this historic item from 1933 is remarkable, and the Whipple are to be congratulated for carefully preserving it.

 The Gatty family retained their connection with the SPR after Oliver’s death, and several members died in the mid-1970s, around the time of the Whipple’s acquisition.  Oliver’s widow Penelope, who had helped her husband with experiments, joined the SPR in 1940, becoming a Council member and later a vice-president.  She married Thomas Balogh, Baron Balogh, in 1945 but continued to style herself Mrs O. Gatty in membership lists (apart from being listed as ‘Gatty, Mrs O., Lady Penelope Balogh,’,in the 1974 list though divorced from Balogh by 1970).  She died in June 1975.  Richard Gatty died in September 1975.  He was not a member of the SPR but his wife Pamela joined in 1945.  She died in 2009.  Oliver and Penelope’s daughter Tirril was also a member for a while.  Hester Sassoon, who had married Siegfried in 1933, joined the SPR in 1944 and died in 1973.  Theodore Besterman died in November 1976.

 

Acknowledgement: I would like to thank my contact at the Whipple Museum for prompt and helpful responses to my questions.

References

Besterman, Theodore & Gatty, Oliver. ‘Report of an Investigation into the Mediumship of Rudi Schneider’, Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research 42, 1934, pp. 251-85.

‘Obituary: Mr Oliver Gatty’, Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research 46, 1940. pp. 206-207.

‘A Memorial to Oliver Gatty’, Journal of the Society for Psychical Research 32, 1942, p. 154.