Darwin's Pilgrims: The Video

In February 2009, I hosted 'Darwin's Pilgrims": a visit to England by two Americans with links to the Dover Pennsylvania trial, Cynthia Sneath and Lauri Lebo, and Canadian Lit Hop artist Baba Brinkman to celebrate Darwin's 200th birthday. The trip involved a "pilgrimage" to Darwin-related sites and a series of performances in English cities, including the premiere of the Rap Guide to Evolution. Previous blog posts captured the spirit of the event

• http://roughguidetoevolution.blogspot.com/2009/02/guest-blog-from-lauri-lebo-darwins.html
• http://roughguidetoevolution.blogspot.com/2009/02/guest-blog-from-lauri-lebo-darwins_13.html
• http://roughguidetoevolution.blogspot.com/2009/02/guest-blog-from-lauri-lebo-darwins_842.html
• http://roughguidetoevolution.blogspot.com/2009/02/guest-blog-from-lauri-lebo-darwins_16.html

But this is the first time I have presented the complete video, covering trips to Malvern, Cambridge and London, even though I finished it a couple of years ago. I hope you enjoy the footage and the great music! For a bunch of non-believers, we spent a lot of time in churches!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GCf3Kg3ekeY

Darwin's Pilgrims in Cambridge: the Movie

Here is the next installment in the Darwin's Pilgrims movies, our trip to Cambridge. 

Link: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=513900029811842595&hl=en

Unfortunately, because of a lorry on fire on the motorway Lauri, Cyndi and I arrived over two hours late for our rendezvous with Baba Brinkman and Claire McShane and so our trip was shorter than planned. Also, Christ's was closed to visitors, so we had to make do with photos outside. But the visit to magnificent King's College Chapel, where Darwin used to go and listen to anthems (like Handel's Zadok The Priest heard here), made it all worthwhile. 

Here is what Darwin said about the chapel in his autobiography:

I acquired a strong taste for music, and used very often to time my walks so as to hear on week days the anthem in King's College Chapel. This gave me intense pleasure, so that my backbone would sometimes shiver. I am sure that there was no affectation or mere imitation in this taste, for I used generally to go by myself to King's College, and I sometimes hired the chorister boys to sing in my rooms.

Darwin's Pilgrims in Malvern: the Movie

I am trying to create a movie of the Darwin's Pilgrims tour, where I hosted a tour of Darwinian sites and series of shows from Lauri Lebo and Baba Brinkman. But the project is turning out to be too large to do in one go in iMovie, so I am going to create a series of short films as a I go along and then join them all together at the end.

Here is a draft version of the first film--the final version will be better quality (currently having problems with the titles). This movie captures Lauri Lebo and Cyndi Sneath's short visit to Great Malvern (an event beset by bad weather!). And in case you don't recognise it, the music is Nimrod by Elgar, the English composer who lived in Malvern (Lauri is seen shaking his statue's hand at the end).

Guest Blog from Lauri Lebo: Darwin's Pilgrims 4

On our last full day in England (Friday 13th February), I visited Darwin's birthplace in Shrewsbury. It was the day after Darwin Day and the rest of this hodge-podge group of pilgrims had scattered by now for other sites and commitments. Only Alex Prodoehl, a 23-year-old hip-hop music agent, and I remained to the end.

Our larger group had toured the village of Shrewsbury earlier in the day. Our guide was Jon King, the director of the town's Darwin festival. He appeared to be a bit exhausted and perhaps hungover from the previous 24 hours of Darwin Day celebrations. Nonetheless, he was a terrific, gracious and exuberant storyteller.

I hate to say it, but Shrewsbury looks just like my mother-in-law's collectibles of Dickens' Houses. The buildings are 17th Century Tudor structures with steep-pitched gables and moss-lined roofs. Arched doorways lead to gardened courtyards and cobbled streets so narrow folks could lean out their windows and shake the hands of their neighbors.

King told us a story behind Darwin's acceptance of passage on the HMS Beagle to be a companion to the captain. After Captain Robert Fitzroy made his offer for the trip, which was due to embark in less than four weeks, Darwin's father first balked. Darwin was only 23 at the time (the same age as my youngest - a fact that never fails to give me pause) and had been an unambitious student, preferring riding, shooting and the gathering of beetles to the classroom. Robert Darwin considered the journey to be a waste of time.

Darwin wrote a letter of regret to Capt. Fitzroy. However, Josiah Wedgwood intervened on Charles' behalf and convinced his brother-in-law to let him go, arguing it would be good for the boy.

Here's where the story takes its dramatic turn: Darwin now had permission, but the letter of regret was already on its way to Fitzroy in London, 150 miles away. When he learned he could go, Darwin, as the story goes, immediately raced uphill from his home to The Lion, a pub that also chartered coaches. Breathlessly, he booked the next one leaving for London. As King said, the longest journey Darwin ever took wasn't on the Beagle, but was on that coach as he raced to beat that letter.

As it turned out, Fitzroy had received the letter, and had offered the position to another person, who had declined. Darwin was given another chance.

While others, including Cyndi, took in a bit of shopping, Alex and I walked to the edge of town to The Mount, where Darwin was born. Today, the expansive brick building is home to a government accountant agency, but one of the employees, Lorraine, was only too happy to invite us in to see the room where Susannah is believed to have given birth to Charles.

A steep hill from the house leads down to the slow-moving Severn River. Alex and I hiked down the hill and walked along the muddy banks. This used to be a garden when Darwin's family owned the land. Today, it is overgrown with brambles. As a young boy, Darwin collected bugs and other critters down here. This is where he was born a naturalist - as they say in Shrewsbury.

As Alex and I walked back to the hotel, we stopped in a shop selling bottles of Darwin's Origins, a rich brown ale brewed for the bicentenary. We asked the salesman if he might open the bottles for us. Outside, Alex raised his bottle and offered a toast, "To Darwin and his magical idea."

Home now. Took hike today with husband and flopped down on the ground in the sunshine in an open field at the top of a hill. Five turkey vultures started circling over us, spying possibility in our prone bodies. Apparently, my feigned death throes weren't convincing enough to hold their attention - Jeff noted that carrion doesn't typically giggle.

The turkey vultures glided off.

Guest Blog from Lauri Lebo: Darwin's Pilgrims 1

Sunday 8th February, 2009

Visited the grave this afternoon of Charles Darwin's daughter Annie, who died of an infection here when she was 10. Her simple gravestone says, "A dear and a good child." A small rosebush has been planted at the foot of the stone and a single pink rose blooms. Her father had brought her here in 1851 to a house perched on the Malvern Hills overlooking the expansive Severn River Valley, which is covered in fog today, to try to save her. The family had spent a summer in Great Malvern, a Victorian-era spa in western England, two years earlier. Darwin, who suffered from chronic stomach ailments, had found the water restorative. Emma, pregnant, had remained behind in London. And Annie died without her mother. Darwin did not wait for the funeral - instead, he let the servants bury Annie - and rushed back to London to be at his wife's side.

Our host, Mark Pallen, a Birmingham University microbiologist, has taken us to the graveyard, which stands under towering ancient Norfolk pines brought here by the church. Now sitting in hotel lobby waiting for dinner at the local pub, drinking coffee and watching it snow over the Malvern Priory (a Middle Age church cut from blocks cut of red and tan sandstone.) The snowflake clusters are so big, one would cover the palm of your hand.

It's cozy and sleep beckons seductively, but Cyndi Sneath and I gamely fight off its advances. (But unable, apparently, in my jet-lagged state to resist heavy-handed metaphors.)

Tomorrow, we head for Cambridge.