The Evolution of Inanimate Objects: The Life and Collected Works of Thomas Darwin. Harry Karlinsky

games. For more consistent fellowship, Thomas relied on the cows, pigs, and ducks that also resided on the eighteen acres upon which Down House stood. During Charles’s “pigeon phase,” Thomas spent considerable time in his father’s pigeon house, where he quickly learned to mimic a number of pigeon sounds, including their warning call of distress: coo roo-c’too-coo. Thereafter, and with the amused collusion of his father, Thomas would loudly sound coo roo-c’too-coo each time a member of the clergy called upon the Darwins. A forewarned Charles could then hurriedly retreat to his bedroom with an apparent exacerbation of any number of physical symptoms, much to Emma’s annoyance.

      Thomas was also inclined to flee to his bedroom to avoid company and was generally perceived as shy. His smallish room was located on the second floor, one of the many bedrooms in Down House’s large three-storey structure, which had been altered and expanded over the years to accommodate the growing numbers of Darwins and domestic staff. One means to entice Thomas downstairs was the sound of a billiards game. Just prior to Thomas’s birth, a billiards table had been installed in the old dining room, and the game immediately became a favourite form of recreation for the entire household. It was Thomas’s task to methodically organize the balls at the beginning of each family tournament using a triangular rack that had been crafted expertly out of cork by Jackson, the Darwins’ groom.⁶ Charles often won, likely because Emma had instructed her sons “never to beat Papa.”

      Thomas would also leave the security of his room on the sound of a secret knock. Thomas’s bedroom was directly beside larger quarters shared by Henrietta and Elizabeth. On hearing three taps in rapid succession, Thomas would dutifully open his door and descend partway down the staircase as his sisters furtively dressed in their mother’s jewels and wardrobe. The former were kept in a simple locked wooden box that first had to be quietly removed from their mother’s room. As the key fitted badly, Henrietta and Emma often resorted to violently shaking and bashing the box before it would open. Again, Thomas’s skills as a pigeon were required as he timed loud calls of coo roo-c’too-coo to mask the sounds arising from his sisters’ inept thievery. These calls had the unintended consequence of also sending his well-trained father scurrying to his room only to emerge some time later, uncertain as to whether any of his physical symptoms were still required. Otherwise, when not involved in such clandestine activities, Thomas preferred to spend long hours in his comfortable but cluttered room, reading, drawing, and, most satisfying of all, organizing his various collections.

      From a young age, Thomas was an entrenched collector. Though he amassed all sorts of objects, his greatest passion was for accumulating buttons. These were organized by size, shape, and colour, and were sorted into trays and jars that Thomas appropriated from his father’s dissecting supplies. As Thomas’s expertise increased, he also began to identify each button on the basis of its composition. This was challenging, as many button materials closely resembled each other. Thomas taught himself to insert a fine, heated needle in the back of each button in order to smell for a distinct odour, such as the stagnant saltwater smell associated with tortoise-shell. The technique was time-consuming, but it allowed Thomas to sort and re-sort his buttons according to finer distinctions and also garnered his father’s admiration for his methodical perseverance.

      Although Thomas was free to retire to his room as he wished, he was generally expected to spend evenings with other members of his family. After a relatively late and simple tea, it was the Darwins’ custom to gather in their large unpretentious drawing-room. This was a time for discussion, affable loitering, and two rituals, the first of which was the collective reading aloud of novels.⁷ Thomas’s favourite story was The Ugly Duckling as read by Henrietta. His eldest sister was masterful at impersonating the ducks whose dialogue animated the fairy tale. At one point in the story, a mother duck instructs her ducklings to “now bow your necks, and say ‘quack.’” Taking his cue, Thomas would dutifully bend his neck and boisterously “quack” along with Henrietta, much to the pleasure of the Darwin household.

      Charles’s enjoyment of Thomas’s participation was twofold. Aside from revelling in Thomas’s joie de vivre, the transformation of a homely and unwanted baby bird into a graceful and beautiful swan was for Charles, above all, a “eugenics” parable.⁸ Although a swan’s egg had accidentally rolled into a duck’s nest, the ultimate superiority of the “ugly duckling” over the other barnyard ducks was predetermined by its genetic lineage. Charles, who supported the concept of selective breeding, saw Thomas’s enthusiasm for The Ugly Ducking as a sign he was a fellow eugenicist, one who recognized the importance of nature over nurture.

      After the shared pleasure of reading, it was then time for backgammon, the second of the evening rituals. The games played by Charles and Emma were undertaken seriously, with Charles uncharacteristically boasting on one occasion, “Now the tally with my wife in backgammon stands thus: she, poor creature, has won only 2490 games, whilst I have won, hurrah, hurrah, 2795 games!” Although the children were expected to remain neutral, Thomas and his siblings would openly cheer their mother’s victories.

      Following backgammon, Emma, a competent pianist, might then entertain the family by playing a number of classical pieces. This was an opportunity for Thomas to do his schoolwork, to read, or to quietly withdraw to his room. By half past ten, it was bedtime for Thomas and the entire Darwin household.

      TWO

      SCHOOL DAYS

      At age ten, following the summer of 1868, Thomas was enrolled at Clapham, the school where each of his brothers (except William) had been educated. He remained there as a boarding student until the age of nineteen. As in other private boarding schools in Victorian England, lessons were confined predominantly to the study of classics. Instructional methods emphasized rote learning and verse-making. For most students, the tedium was only partially relieved by compulsory participation in the seasonal athletic programs (usually cricket, football, cross-country running, and fencing), the appalling and repetitive school meals, and time spent, after last bell, avoiding the abuses of senior boys.

      Each student’s stay at Clapham was associated with an individual casebook (or student file). Under the date September 14th, 1868, Thomas’s name stands in the General Admission Register: “Thomas Darwin, son of Charles Darwin, of Down” along with the modest, albeit misleading, description of his father’s occupation — “country gentleman.” Within his student file, still housed along with those of his classmates in the National Archives of England, cursory identifying data is followed by the headmaster’s brief yearly note, each dated on or around June 1st, from 1869 to 1877 inclusive.

      The annual notes for each student were virtually identical, and those written in the first few years of Thomas’s enrollment by a Mr. Pritchard are hardly illuminating.

      “June 1st, 1869. Thomas has passed the year’s examinations and is eligible for advancement. Pritchard.”

      “June 1st, 1870. Ibid.”

      “June 1st, 1871. Ibid.”

      In autumn, 1871, a Dr. Wrigley was appointed the new headmaster and, perhaps due to a newcomer’s enthusiasm, a more substantial note next appeared in Thomas’s casebook.

      “June 3rd, 1872. Thomas is a quiet and obedient boy of avrage [sic] ability. Isolated but cooperative when approached. Hardworking, honest, and upright. Eligible for advancement. Wrigley.”

      Wrigley’s assessment confirmed Charles and Emma’s fears. Although doubtlessly pleased with Dr. Wrigley’s positive estimation of Thomas’s character, the two had privately hoped that, once enrolled at Clapham, Thomas might engage in the typical male camaraderie of adolescence. Until then, they had attributed Thomas’s solitary nature to a lack of social opportunity. To Charles and Emma’s disappointment, however, Thomas remained uninterested in acquiring close friends even when surrounded by boys his age. “Still alone but not lonely,” as a resigned Emma reported to Aunt Fanny.

      After his initial note, Wrigley’s annual entries succumbed to the formulaic. Thomas continued to be promoted annually, and in his final year at Clapham, he capably passed the entrance examinations for Cambridge. Charles and Emma seemed content with Thomas’s consistent, if unremarkable, school performance. Based on