Animal lovers: Bird buddies and feline friends

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Many of us have pets but how many can say they dote on a peacock? Vivenne Smith reveals the softer side of some animal-loving Derbyshire luminaries.

Angela Burdett-Coutts gave away a fortune to good causes including charities which cared for animals. She is pictured with one of her pet cockatoos

The porcelain cockatoo which replaced real life cockatoo Cocky in the window of Angela Burdett-Coutts’ London home when the bird died

The Christmas card commissioned by Angela Burdett-Coutts featuring her beloved pets

Sir Edwin Landseer’s portrait of Sir Francis Chantrey’s dog, Mustard. Note the unfinished bust of Sir Walter Scott in the background

Edith Sitwell, aged four, during the time she lived at Renishaw Hall

A drawing by Parthenope Nightingale of her sister, Florence, with her pet owl Athena

Florence Nightingale's stuffed owl Athena. She rescued the owl when it was a baby during a visit to Athens in Greece, When it died her family had it stuffed

OWNING a pet is said to be good for you, not only for the companionship but also in helping to reduce the stresses and strains of modern-day living.

Some of Derbyshire’s most celebrated residents also appreciated the benefits of pet ownership and doted on their animals – just like we do today.

In doing so, they also revealed that even the most eminent luminaries shared similar qualities to those who led less worthy lives.

One undisputed animal-love was Baroness Angela Burdett-Coutts (1814-1906), the daughter of Sir Francis Burdett of Foremark Hall.

At the age of 23, on inheriting her grandfather’s fortune, she became the richest woman in Britain.

During her life, she gave away well over £3m of her personal fortune to alleviate the suffering, not only of people, but also of animals.

This love for all creatures great and small had begun in early childhood. Her father had been a sponsor of the Martin Act, the first legal attempt to tackle the issue of cruelty to animals.

When it came to pets, Miss Coutts was particularly fond of dogs. She even wrote a biography of her beloved terrier Fan, whose death upset her greatly.

But it was her parrots which were the real celebrities.

At one time, she owned a cheeky old grey parrot who delighted high society visitors to her home with its raucous insults, such as: “What a shocking bad hat.”

A later acquisition was Cocky, a remarkably intelligent cockatoo. The sight of him swinging on his perch in the window of her home in Piccadilly indicated to visitors that Miss Coutts was in residence.

When Cocky eventually died, his place in the window was taken by a porcelain cockatoo, to the amusement of passers-by.

These pets meant a great deal to the baroness.

In fact, in 1892, she even commissioned artist Edmund Caldwell to draw Cocky and three of her dogs as a cartoon for her Christmas card that year.

In the case of Dr Samuel Johnson (1709-1784), his affections were lavished on a cat.

The compiler of the world’s first practical dictionary did not suffer fools gladly, yet nothing was too much for his moggie Hodge.

He even went out himself especially to buy oysters for his pet to eat.

His concern was that if he asked the servants to go to all this trouble for a cat, they might take against “the poor creature”.

Johnson had shown similar devotion to a previous cat, which his wife, Tetty, had only beaten in front of the maid.

He soundly told her off for doing so, as it gave the maid carte blanche to “treat puss with cruelty and plead her mistress’ example”.

However, unlike this anonymous feline, Hodge received a name check in James Boswell’s classic work The Life of Samuel Johnson.

The doctor’s biographer and friend wrote of the cat: “I recollect him one day scrabbling up Dr Johnson’s breast, apparently with much satisfaction, while my friend, smiling and half-whistling, rubbed down his back and pulled him by the tail.”

Although no lover of cats himself, Boswell politely commented to Johnson that Hodge was, indeed, a splendid creature.

To this the great man replied: “Why, yes, Sir, but I have had cats whom I liked better than this.”

Then suddenly sensing Hodge’s disapproval at this revelation, he added: “But he is a very fine cat, a very fine cat, indeed.”

Another great fan of felines was Florence Nightingale (1820-1910). During her lifetime, she owned more than 60 cats.

However, it was probably her pet owl, Athena, that meant the most to the Lady of the Lamp.

The little bird saved her sanity when she was suffering from severe depression caused by the lack of direction in her life.

Florence rescued the owl while on a trip to Athens, in Greece, in the spring of 1850.

The baby owl had fallen from its nest and was being tormented by some boys.

Having bought the bird from them, she managed to rear it. Athena became devoted to her mistress, and travelled everywhere in Florence’s pocket.

Then, in October 1854, came the call to the Crimea.

In all the excitement, the owl was forgotten by Florence’s family and left shut in the attic at Lea Hurst.

When the servants discovered Athena dead, arrangements were quickly made to have the creature stuffed.

The only sign of emotion Florence showed before her departure to Turkey was when her sister, Parthenope, put Athena’s tiny lifeless body into her hand.

She burst into tears and sobbed: “Poor little beastie. It was odd how much I loved you.”

The following spring, it was memories of Athena which aided Florence’s recovery when she fell seriously ill with Crimean fever.

Parthenope sent her a little book entitled The Life and Death of Athena, an Owlet which she had written and illustrated herself.

A plate from this work, depicting Florence with Athena at her side, was later mass-produced and copies sold all over England.

As well as being a tonic, pets can bring out the frivolous side in the most unlikely people. For instance, Erasmus Darwin (1713-1802) was both a hard-working physician and a serious man of science.

Yet, this did not stop him launching into a playful correspondence in September 1780 with his neighbour in Lichfield, on behalf of their respective cats.

Posing as his Persian cat Snow Grimalkin, he wrote a love letter to Miss Po Felina, the tabby of Eyam-born poet Anna Seward (1742-1809).

“Dear Miss Pussy”, he began. “I sat the other day carelessly basking myself in the sun in my parlour window and saw you in the opposite window washing your beautiful round face and elegant brindled ears with your velvet paw.”

His chat-up lines had a definite feline touch: “Permit me this very afternoon to lay at your divine feet the head of an enormous rat, who has even now stain’d my paws with its gore.”

He was keen to point out he was not that bad looking, having caught sight of his long white whiskers, ivory teeth and topaz eyes in his master’s slop basin that morning.

But the object of his affections remained unimpressed. In a reply that ran to several pages, Anna Seward (in the guise of Po Felina) explained that marriage to so ferocious a creature was not on the cards. But then Darwin had apparently only intended the letters to be a bit of fun.

Just a few month later, the 49-year-old widower wed Elizabeth Pole of Radburn Hall, near Derby.

All kinds of animals can make good companions, as Dame Edith Sitwell (1887-1964) discovered at the age of four.

Famous for her eccentric appearance, the celebrated poet had an unhappy childhood at Renishaw Hall.

Her parents were disappointed that their first child was not the son and heir they craved.

Feeling unwanted, the little girl sought affection where she could. In her autobiography Taken Care Of, published when she was in her 70s, Dame Edith revealed that the peacock at Renishaw became a much-loved pet.

At 9am each day, the bird would stand outside her mother’s bedroom window, waiting for his young friend to appear.

When she did, he would utter a harsh shriek of welcome.

Peaky, as Edith called him, loitered outside until she left the room. Then, with a loud screech, he would fly down into the gardens.

She joined him there to go for a walk with her arm round the peacock’s neck.

As Dame Edith noted in her memoirs: “If it had not been for his crown, which made him slightly larger than me, we would have been the same height.”

For months the pair were inseparable.

But then Edith’s father thoughtlessly bought Peaky a wife and the little girl lost the companionship of her avian friend overnight.

Few pets are quite as fickle as Peaky proved. In fact, for Sir Francis Chantrey (1781-1841), loyalty was the characteristic he admired most in his pets.

A carpenter’s son from North Derbyshire, he was the most successful sculptor of portrait busts in England in his day.

He owned several dogs during his lifetime. One of his favourites was a Dandie Dinmont terrier given to him in May 1825 by Sir Walter Scott, in return for making a marble bust of the writer.

This particular breed had been made famous by Scott a decade earlier through his novel Guy Mannering. Named Mustard, Chantrey’s new pet was “of the roughest wiry kind”.

But, over the years, this pampered pooch put on weight and developed a smoother coat.

Yet nothing diminished his devotion to Sir Francis and Lady Chantrey. Both of them adored Mustard, who also became a favourite with their friends.

In fact, the sculptor thought so much of his pet that, in April 1835, he even commissioned Sir Edwin Landseer to paint the dog’s portrait, at a cost of 150 guineas.

To request the artist’s services, Chantrey sent a humorous letter as though written and signed by Mustard himself.

The finished portrait proved a remarkable likeness. As the dog’s delighted owner told Landseer: “I am more than satisfied you have produced a picture of my faithful dog Mustard that stands without a rival.”

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