An appeal to my mates at Whipsnead. Please do the right thing by Edward Horatio Girling.

I dropped a note in the above mail box a couple of weeks ago, but apparently nobody got it, or they are ignoring me. I didn't want to go public with this, but my "mate's" have left me no choice.

You folks who are a part of the English zoo scene need to do the right and honorable thing by getting at least a plaque in place for perhaps one of you most esteemed ex colleagues, the Head Keeper in the Serpent Room in 1852, the illustrious Edward Horatio Girling. Long before Marlin Perkins, longer before Jungle Jack Hanna, and even longer before the Crocodile Hunter, Edward Horation Girling was "show boating and grandstanding" in as fine of a manner as even the most famous "tv zoo personality." Not only did Eddy write the book on "hanging visual paper", he gave his life to the craft. For him not to be recognized by the London Zoo, is one of history's great injustice's to a great animal man. Don and Rebis, please see that something is done about this. I humbly submit Ed's paper for your consideration:

Joseph Clover Miscellaneous Journal, 1846

Ether and chloroform were not the only wondrous new things exciting Victorian England. Travellers returning from exotic lands brought tales of extraordinary creatures, plants and insects which fascinated scientists and enlivened dinner conversations. A number of learned men, among them Stamford Raffles and Humphry Davy, gathered together to form the London Zoological Society in 1826. Two years later, the Zoological Gardens in Regent's Park was established to allow members of the society to study animals at their leisure. Eventually, in 1847 it opened to the paying public, allowing the curious population to observe these strange creatures from faraway places.

The Industrial Revolution had seen the creation of many new job opportunities but probably none more curious than that of zookeeper. There were, of course, no recognised qualifications and applicants presumably had to be adventurous and creative. Edward Horatio Girling had previously been employed as a guard on the Eastern Counties Railway, another new source of employment, but in 1851 went in search of fresh adventures and was appointed "Head Keeper of the Serpent Room" (2). He was instructed in the care of the snakes by Mr DW Mitchell, the secretary of the Zoological Society, and employed for one guinea a week. But, as it was later discovered, Girling had a fondness for gin. His wife stated, "He used to break out at times, but not while he was at his work. He went to it at six in the morning and returned at six in the evening. When he was intoxicated I had kept him at home in the morning until he was fit to go. He had never been suspended from his work ..." Others told a different story and suspected he had been drunk at work in the past but they had not reported it, not wanting to cost the man his job.

On the night of 19 October 1852, Girling was out drinking with a friend who was moving to Australia. Together with Edward Stewart, a temporary employee of the zoo, they stayed up all night, having three pints of beer at the friend's house before moving to a pub in Shoe Lane where they drank quarters of gin until eight in the morning. From there it was straight to work where Edward Stewart, presumably still inebriated from the night before, was occupied in the relative safety of the hummingbird enclosure. But, once he had gathered up a basket of sparrows for the snake house, he went there to find Girling in "an excited state." Girling, emboldened by gin, had walked past the railing in the reptile house and proceeded to lift out a Morocco Snake from its glass-fronted cage. Despite the protests of his friend, he draped this snake around the unfortunate Stewart, crying "I am inspired!" His friend bent down, protesting that the snake would bite him at any moment. Girling relented and put the snake back where it belonged. Stewart went about his work only to hear his friend cry "Now for the cobra"--a statement which must have chilled him into instant sobriety. Unable to stop his friend, he watched horrified as Girling took hold of the snake and put it under his waistcoat. The snake coiled around Girling's waist, came out the front and, as Girling took hold of its body, struck him in the middle of his face. Stewart fled in search of help while Girling managed to return the cobra to the safety of its cage and wash his bleeding face before being bundled into a cab and taken to University College Hospital.

About 40 minutes after the accident, Girling staggered into the hospital unable to speak or swallow and pointing to his throat. At the hospital, a number of doctors went straight to work, trying to keep him alive--among them Drs Joseph Clover, the then resident medical officer, and George Burder, the house surgeon. Girling was rapidly assessed in the casualty department, before being "transferred to the ward, undressed and placed in bed" (3). His condition deteriorated rapidly as he lost consciousness and his breathing became laboured. As his respiration ceased, artificial respiration was commenced with bellows with some improvement in the condition of the patient. Galvanic current was also applied with little effect but the respiratory resuscitation was effective for about half an hour, at which point the pulse weakened and ceased. Death was declared about 90 minutes after the accident.

Clover made the following notes about the presentation in his personal casebook, "Struggling with agony--face congested lips purple--pulse regular 72 but soon became irregular in force as breathing became intermittent. [Artif.sup.l] respiration restored the strength and regularity which became weak directly the artificial [breath.sup.g] was stopped and whilst it was discontinued for the purpose of applying the galvanic machine it fell rapidly to 50 and was very soft. In two minutes the bellows were at work again and the pulse became once more about 72 but soft and gradually stopped just half an hour after the symptoms of asphyxia had been manifested --at 25 minutes before 10 o'clock"

Dr Burder, as the house surgeon responsible for the reporting, made more detailed notes, preparing for the inquest and the inevitable public scrutiny. But the observations did not stop there, Clover's notes continued, "At 10 1/4-1/2 hour after death. Face livid--lips leaden colour. Rt eyelid swollen and purple wound at inner canthus discharged thin blood--no [discol.sup.n] of skin. 1pm. Some veins of Rt forearm looked reddish brown--others blue colour removed from them by purpose--faint pink mottling of skin and arms. 9pm discharge of blood from nostrils and mouth--dull red [discol.sup.n] of face. 8am 21 Octr. Rigor mortis well marked. No abnormal discoloration along superfl veins. Skin of face, neck and upper part of chest dusky red brown purple discoln of front part of body except where pressure had been face generally rather swollen Rt eyelid resumed its natural size and little darker than the rest of the face." They knew little about this venom and its effects on the body and this case presented a unique opportunity. "... the attention of the profession has been attracted by the hope of gathering facts which might lead to better knowledge of the nature of the venom, and possibly conduce to the discovery of an antidote" (5). This was Victorian medicine, very little in the way of specific medicines and treatments, but constantly documenting and searching for clues, describing the smallest changes in a patient's condition (even after death) in the hope that it might yield information leading to an eventual cure.

Clover was not the only one visiting the body and taking notes. Burder also made intermittent notes during the following day and the post mortem was eventually conducted on the afternoon of October 21. Experiments were conducted with the dead man's blood and Dr Marshall (assistant surgeon to University College Hospital) "tried the blood in the dead-house with hydrochloric acid, and found that some vapours of ammonia were evolved" (5). A mouse was also injected with some of the blood but "did not experience any ill effects" (5). The blood itself was noted to be dark, alkaline and fluid, emitting an unusual odour.

On 22 October the body was on view again, this time before the jury and the wife of the deceased at the inquest. Thomas Wakley, editor of the Lancet, was the coroner presiding over the proceedings and, after viewing the body, the entire court departed for Regent's Park to view the scene of the accident. The cobra, displayed in its glass case, took refuge "from the gaze of the respectable jury in a small water tank with which the compartment is provided" (2).

The post mortem revealed nothing unexpected and Burder reported that death was due to asphyxia. There was no argument from the coroner about the cause of death or the hospital treatment and his only criticism was to suggest that someone at the scene of the incident should have applied suction to the wound. Had he been there, he stated, he would have not hesitated to do so--a safe enough proclamation from where he was sitting. The jury, suitably instructed by Mr Wakley returned the only sensible verdict "... that the deceased had lost his life by the bite of a serpent known as the cobra de capella, when in a state of intoxication, and in consequence of his own rashness and indiscretion"

What is intriguing is that this patient was resuscitated, albeit unsuccessfully, with artificial ventilation using bellows. The Royal Humane Society, established in 1774, advocated the use of bellows for resuscitation after drowning from about 1776 onwards (6). Instrument makers were quick to develop sets which came with a variety of airways and tracheal tubes. Charles Kite, aware that tracheal intubation was difficult in unskilled hands, developed a nasal airway which was included in his resuscitation set and was used with cricoid pressure. In 1827 Leroy reported a survey of resuscitation practices and animal experiments demonstrating that over-distension of the lungs could rupture the alveoli and that modern resuscitation practices were producing worse results than before the introduction of bellows7. The acceptance of his work in France led to the technique being abandoned and by 1832 The Royal Humane Society in Britain had also abandoned the use of bellows and resorted to warming and rubbing their drowned patients.

"In conclusion, Don and Rebis, Edward Horatio Girling, with a bottle of Gin, proved that The Royal Humane Society in Britain was wrong, in regards to their thoughts about bellows, not for a very long, but that's not the point. He gave his all, and he should be recognized for that sacrifice."