Mary Anning's Curiosity

by Monica Kulling

  Instantly, Pa’s strong arms scooped Mary up and carried her to the footpath. He didn’t let her down until they were both safely on the cliff top. High tide surged in and smashed at the cliffs. Mary felt the sea spray on her face.

  “I thought you weren’t going to make it,” said Joe, near tears.

  “Let’s get home quickly now,” said Pa.

  Before following, Mary dropped her sack and shouted, “I made it!”

  And she had. In the nick of time, she’d been saved again.

  3

  —

  Fossil Fish

  In Lyme Regis, the houses, shops, churches, a gathering place called the Assembly Rooms, and the Cockmoile, or prison, were built on hills so steep and cobbled streets so narrow that a coach couldn’t make its way into the town or to the beach. Tourists visiting from London for the bracing sea air stepped off the coach and walked or hired a small cart to carry them down.

  Tourists loved to buy souvenir curios. Pa did all he could to make his fossils outshine those of the competition — namely, William Lock, better known as the Curiman or Captain Cury. Captain Cury didn’t have Pa’s patience or respect for the fossils found in the cliffs. He dug them up with a spade, often damaging precious finds. He also didn’t like to wait for tourists to walk down the hill into Lyme Regis. He’d meet the coach at Charmouth, five miles east of town, and sell to the passengers getting off the coach to stretch their legs.

  This didn’t seem right to Mary, but that was Captain Cury’s way.

  Saturday was market day. Pa pushed a table through his workshop window and Joe placed it on the pavement. Then he, Mary and Molly laid out all the curiosities that had been prepared that week. Pa had found a way to cut an ammonite in half using sand and water. This made the ammo’s inner chambers visible. Pa’s ammos shone like jewels. Tourists crowded around the Anning table to buy these special curiosities.

  Pa’s carpenter skills could also be seen in the wooden boxes he made to hold small curios. These were beautifully crafted with designs carved on the lid. Not only had Pa taught Mary how to hunt for fossils and how to prepare them, but he’d also taught her how to make the boxes. Ma might have hated “that grubby business,” but she hated not having the rent money even more. Often, fossil sales meant the difference between beef stew for supper or plain old oatmeal.

  Mary loved market days. She loved the hustle and bustle, and meeting all her neighbors. She loved the bartering and bantering. You could buy most anything — vegetables, boots and shoes, bread and biscuits, rag rugs, pottery, chairs, fresh meat and fresher fish. There was stuff to sell and stories to tell, from sunup to sundown.

  Mary was gulping down her breakfast.

  “Don’t gobble yourself into a bellyache,” warned Ma.

  “I’ve got to help set up,” mumbled Mary with her mouth full.

  Ma sighed. If only Mary were this eager to help with the household chores.

  Clomp-clomp-clomp!

  Pa came stomping up the cellar steps, carrying a crate. Inside were the curiosities ready to sell. There were also seashells Mary had found. Pa called them bivalves.

  “Kind of like ancient clams,” he said. There was a batch of new ammonites that Joe had found. He was good at finding ammos. Mary was good at finding shells.

  Mary brought her bowl to the sink.

  “Meet you outside, Ma,” she said, rushing out the door.

  It was Mary’s job to sort the curiosities and make an eye-catching display. She began by picking out the “devil’s toenails,” placing larger ones at the bottom of a rush basket, which Ma had made from the leaves of water plants, and smaller ones at the top. People thought these fossils, with their thick bony growth, looked like toenails, and not human ones! They were keen to have them because they believed they cured painful joints.

  Mary lined the shells in a row. Perhaps she was best at finding shells, be they large or small, because she loved them so. She loved that sometimes shells smelled like the salty sea. She loved tracing the rough lines of the outer shell and the water-smooth insides. It set her imagination wondering about the creature that had once lived inside. What had it looked like? When did it live? And how?

  People loved ammonites and could always spare a penny for even the smallest. They were thought to be good-luck charms and to ward off snakes. Once England had been overrun with snakes, so the legend went, until St. Hilda turned all the snakes into stone. Many people believed the legend and thought that ammonites were really these snakes. But Pa didn’t. He was a man of science, not a believer of fanciful tales.

  For example, the legend didn’t explain why these fossilized snakes were never found with their heads attached. Captain Cury would often carve a head onto an ammo to fit the legend, but that was wrong according to Pa. “They’re not snakes,” he’d say over and over. “They’re something far more mysterious.”

  Ma came outside, her face clouded with care. It was month’s end and the rent was due.

  “Do we have the rent money, Richard?” she asked, though she knew what the answer would be.

  “Still short a shilling or three,” Pa replied cheerfully. He never let money worry him. “Comes and goes like water, it does,” he was fond of saying.

  “Don’t fret, Molly. The coins will come.”

  “But when? Surely you can’t think you’ll sell three shillings’ worth of old stones today? I swear, some days I think we’re two steps short of the workhouse.”

  Just then, a woman dressed in a pleated plaid skirt with a bonnet to match stopped at the table.

  “What a lovely display,” she said, smiling. “Do you ever find petrified fish?”

  “I’ve never seen any, ma’am,” replied Joe straight off.

  The woman picked up an ammonite. “These can be found everywhere on the beach. It’s the fish I am most interested in.”

  Mary, ever curious, asked, “Why’s that, ma’am?”

  Before the woman could answer, Pa said, “If it’s fossil fish ye want, it’s fossil fish ye’ll have. Mary’s a dab hand at finding seashells. I’m sure her eye can spot a fish fossil in the twitch of a cat’s whisker.”

  “Mary should introduce herself first,” chided her mother. Molly could tell this woman was educated and had money, and it didn’t do to show yourself up with poor manners because you had neither.

  “My name’s Mary Anning,” replied Mary, with a slight bend of the knee. “And this here’s my brother, Joe.”

  “Pleased to meet you both,” said the woman. “I’m Elizabeth Philpot. And to answer your question, Mary, I collect fossil fish for their rare and delicate beauty. I’ve made a study of them.”

  “I would like to see your collection one day,” said Mary eagerly. “If I may,” she added politely.

  “Perhaps one day you shall,” replied Miss Philpot. “I live up the hill in Morley Cottage with my two sisters. I’d be happy to show you my collection.”

  Pa spoke. “I’m Richard Anning and this is my wife, Molly. How may we help you, aside from finding the fossil fish, mind?”

  “I was hoping you could build me a display case to hold my fish,” said Miss Philpot. “My collection has outgrown the cases I have, and my sisters aren’t happy unless my fish are under glass. They make the floors so sandy, you see.”

  Miss Philpot took three coins from her cloth bag. “Would this be enough for a down payment?”

  “Three shillings,” said Pa with a smile and a wink at Ma. “Why, yes. I do believe that’s exactly right.”

  4

  —

  The Fall

  Summer 1807

  It was after supper and Pa was packing a sack with old bones. It had been a poor week for selling curios, and he had decided to walk to Charmouth to do some selling to the tourists before the coach stopped at Lyme.

  “I’ll be stealing a leaf from the Curima
n’s book,” he said cheerfully. “Cut in on his sales like he does ours. Beat him at his own game.”

  Pa was going to meet the London-to-Exeter coach, which stopped in Charmouth, and sell to the folks outside the inn before the coach made its way to Lyme Regis.

  “Is it safe to walk the cliffs this evening, Richard?” asked Ma.

  A dense fog had rolled in from the gray sea and had been hanging onto the cliffs all week.

  “Why not wait for a clear day?” added Ma. “After all, Charmouth isn’t going anywhere.”

  “Can I come, Pa?” asked the always-eager Mary.

  “I’ll go with you, Pa,” offered Joe.

  “Neither of you is coming,” replied Pa. “I’ll be walking apace and you’ll not be able to keep up. Besides, my feet know the land like the back of my hand.”

  Pa smiled. It was a lame joke, and no one laughed. “Wish me luck!”

  With that, the tall, bearded man was out the door, bound for the cliff tops. He planned to take a shortcut across the Black Ven. This massive cliff, east of Church Cliffs, had a menacing presence even in daylight and was known for its frequent landslides.

  Ma, Joe and Mary tried to keep busy that evening, each with their own worried thoughts.

  Later that night, there was a loud pounding at the door. Joe was the first to make his way down the dark staircase and to open it. He saw their neighbor Mr. Bennett holding a lamp, and two other men, strangers, carrying Pa between them.

  “These men found Richard at the base of the Black Ven,” said Mr. Bennett.

  Ma came downstairs in time to see the men lay Pa down on a mat in the kitchen by the stove.

  “He was out cold, lying on the beach,” one man explained.

  “Lost his footing in the fog and slipped, I expect,” said the other.

  Ma’s eyes filled with tears. She covered Pa with a blanket and hoped with all her heart that his injuries weren’t serious.

  “Wake up, dear one,” she said, gently stroking Pa’s cheek.

  While Ma and Mary sat holding Pa’s hands, Joe ran to fetch Dr. Fairwell. Pa’s eyes were open when the doctor arrived.

  “What were you thinking, walking out on the Black Ven in the fog?” Dr. Fairwell asked, opening his carryall.

  The doctor examined Pa carefully, beginning with his back. At the doctor’s touch, Pa winced in pain.

  “You’ve injured your back, Richard,” Dr. Fairwell finally announced. “You’ll need to rest. Can you manage giving up work for a bit? I’ll see what money I can get for you from the church relief fund. That way you’ll rest easier.”

  Pa nodded, although he didn’t like the idea of taking money from others.

  At the door, Ma thanked Dr. Fairwell.

  Then she took the large stone she’d set to warming in the oven, wrapped it in cloth and put it against Pa’s back.

  “How’d it happen?” she asked.

  “Reckon I lost my way in the fog,” replied Pa. “The ground crumbled under my feet and sent me upskittle. I rolled down with the boulders.”

  Pa never said another word about the accident, but, as the weeks passed, it became clear he was not himself. He was dark in his thoughts most of the time, and nothing and no one could cheer him.

  Pain wracked Pa night and day, and his cries and moans upset everyone. Opium was the painkiller rich people used. The drug would have greatly eased Pa’s misery, but it was expensive.

  In the weeks to come, it seemed to Mary and Joe that Pa’s interest in fossil hunting had died when he fell. Storms no longer excited him. He’d gaze out the window at a nor’easter blasting white foam against the house and washing the cliffs clean, and he’d remain silent. His usual excitement at such a sight was nowhere to be seen.

  Pa rarely left the house now, even on days when he was able to get up and move around.

  “When will you come on beach again?” Mary asked each morning.

  “Not soon,” was Pa’s only reply.

  Ma encouraged Pa to take short walks. “The sea air would do you good.”

  Mary thought the great crocodile might reawaken Pa’s curiosity and make him want to hunt again.

  “The Lyme Regis sea-dragon is out there waiting for us, Pa.”

  But it was no use. Richard Anning and the sea had parted ways, and that was that.

  5

  —

  Hard Times

  1810 — Three years later

  It was still dark out, but Mary was awake and looking out the small window above her bed. The night sky looked endless, dotted with countless pinpricks of starlight. The crashing sea made Mary long to be outside.

  Even though it was November and bitterly cold, Mary was sneaking out to go hunting. Before going to bed, she’d secretly packed her tools in a small rucksack and hidden it under her covers. Mary had a plan, and it spurred her on. There would be no school for her today.

  Mary dressed in two skirts, two sweaters, stockings and an old wool cap of Pa’s. She tiptoed down the stairs, carrying her sack and trying to make as little noise as possible.

  Mary was just opening the door when she heard “Koff-koff-koff!”

  It was Pa. Mary had forgotten. He’d been too weak to climb the stairs the night before, so he’d slept downstairs.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he whispered harshly. Pa always spoke in hoarse whispers now. His constant cough had turned out to be consumption. Ma was certain the fall off Black Ven three years before had weakened Pa’s lungs so that he couldn’t fight off the disease when he caught it. Pa grew weaker every day.

  “I’m going hunting,” Mary replied gently.

  Joe hadn’t been soundly asleep either. He’d snuck down behind Mary and was now lighting the lamp on the kitchen table.

  “You’ll be late for school,” he said.

  “Joe’s right,” said Pa hoarsely. “You’ve got school. Awk-awk-awk!”

  Mary saw the drops of blood in Pa’s hankie and went to get a glass of water.

  Pa got up from his mat and slumped into a nearby chair like a rag doll.

  “I don’t need to be in school to learn, Pa,” said Mary, holding the glass to Pa’s mouth. “Joe’s learning a trade, and I’m not supposed to because I’m a girl. But I want to. Fossil hunting is my trade.”

  Mr. Hale, the town’s upholsterer, had been kind after Pa’s fall. He’d taken Joe on for a small fee that the family could afford. Joe worked hard to pay him back.

  “But you like school,” said Joe.

  Mary did like school. She liked making sums come out right. She loved reading and writing. She especially loved learning new words, fancy words, words that no one in her part of town ever used. And yet Mary wanted with all her heart to do what she was best at to help her family. After all, she was eleven now.

  “If anyone’s going on beach to help the family, it’s going to be me,” said Joe.

  “You’ve got your work with Mr. Hale,” replied Mary. “You know you can’t give that up. Besides, you don’t love hunting the way I do.”

  “Enough!”

  It was Ma, and she was madder than a drenched hen. She was due to have another baby soon, which would only add to the family’s hardships. Lizzie had died. Percy had died. And now Ma was bringing another baby into this hardscrabble life.

  Ma glared at Mary before unleashing her fury.

  “Go! Give up a chance to have a better life than your pa and me. Scrounge on the beach like a tramp all your days and see where it gets you. It’ll get you nowhere, of that I am certain. So go! Get out with you! School is better off without you.”

  Ma’s words stung, but Mary didn’t give them time to sink in. Instead, she shouldered her rucksack and closed the door behind her. She walked quickly down to the seashore. Hope in her heart for what she might find there took the place of Ma’s harsh words.
<
br />   From that day on Mary never sat in a classroom again.

  Pa’s final day came on the fifth of November, 1810. Mary, Joe and Ma were all beside him when he died. Pa’s last words were “Stay strong.”

  After the funeral, when the people who’d come to cook and bring comfort were gone, Ma found out just how difficult life was going to be. Pa had left behind a large debt and there was no money to pay it.

  “How will we live?” sobbed Ma.

  Mary and Joe said nothing. They had no idea.

  Ma’s dread of the workhouse, with the shame that was attached to it, drove her to ask for church relief again. It wasn’t much money, but it was enough to put some scraps of food on the table.

  “Oh, Richard, how could you leave us this way?”

  Joe and Mary were too sad to respond. What had Pa been thinking?

  PART TWO

  The Great Crocodile

  6

  —

  An Amazing Day

  Spring 1811

  Mary was mud splattered and bone weary, but happier than she’d been in months. She had spent the afternoon digging on the beach and was eager to tell Ma her good news. She hoped it would cheer her up. Ma had been sad since the deaths of Pa and the baby, who was born a couple of months after Pa’s funeral and who had been named Richard.

  Mary quickly climbed the seawall’s water stairs, making sure not to slip. As she headed toward Gun Cliff, she met Ann, who fell in step with Mary’s quick pace.

  “Are you ever coming back to school?” asked Ann.

  “No,” replied Mary crisply. “Not ever. I’m too busy.”

  “Don’t you miss it?”

  Ann certainly missed Mary being in school. She missed sitting next to her in class and whispering secrets or sharing a laugh when they found something funny. Most of all, Ann missed the curious questions Mary had always asked the teacher. The class was dull without her.