Philip Gosse, (August 13, 1879 to October 3, 1959), the son of the eminent 19th century literary critic, Edmund Gosse, was himself an author. Sometimes the sons of famous men get lost in the wake of their fathers' acclaim, so let us take a moment to review Philip Gosse's biographical notes.
The son of Edmund Gosse was a medical doctor, (general practitioner), naturalist and an historian of piracy. His books include
Notes on the Natural History of the Aconagua Valley (1899)
Notes on the Natural History of the Aconagua Valley (1899)
The Pirates' Who's Who, (1924)
The Birds of the Balearic Islands (1926)
The Birds of the Balearic Islands (1926)
The Mammals of Flanders (1926)
My Pirate Library (1926)
The Life of Sir John Hawkins (1930)
Gosse finished his medical education in 1907. He married Gertrude Agnes Gosse Hay on July 14, 1908.They had a daughter, and sometime before 1930, were divorced. He retired in 1930 from practising medicine. On November 28, 1930 he married Irene Ruth Hawkshaw, and they had a child. In 1941 he divorced her on the grounds of her adultery with Percival Harmsworth. His last marriage, to Anna Gordon Keown, on February 2, 1943, produced no offspring.
But let's go back now, to when Philip Gosse was 16 years old. What an adventure he shared in, at just the right age. The Highest Andes, (1899) detailed Edward Fitzgerald's South American expedition. Gosse was along as a naturalist, and is included as an author on the resultant book. Here are some fascinating insights from that trip: The Highest Andes, was
...the outcome of seven months' work by myself and my colleagues, Mr. Stuart Vines, Mr. Arthur Lightbody, and Mr. Philip Gosse,in the Andes of Argentina. My expedition had for its object primarily the triangulation of the country immediately surrounding the peak of Aconcagua, America's highest mountain; and secondly, the scaling of the great peak itself, which had up to that time defied the efforts of all who had attempted to gain its summit. ...
This is a quote from the diary of Philip Gosse, included in the volume under consideration.
One of our arrieros, Tomas Sosa by name, told me that at night a fox always visited the camp to pick up any odd scraps of food it found lying about. So the next night I slept in the open shed we called the 'scullery,' and, it being a fine moonlight night, my patience was rewarded by seeing, at about i a.m., what looked like a small slinking shadow within a few yards of me. Unfortunately I had my poncho on, and couldn't get my arms free quickly enough to shoot. The fox was very suspicious of me, probably because of the moonlight shining on the barrels of the gun, and he slunk off behind a small knoll. The moment he was out of sight, I arranged the poncho comfortably for shooting, and, getting the gun up to my shoulder, rested it with my elbows on my knees. I had been squatting in this position for what seemed a very long time, and was just beginning to think that Reynard had left for good, when, behind a bush, I saw two round lights watching me. I kept quite still, and presently the two burning eyes drew a little nearer, and soon I could make out the faint outline of the fox's body. After some hesitation he came out from the bushes into the open space before the camp, into the bright moonlight, his shining eyes looking quite uncanny. I waited quite still, hoping that he would come a little nearer, but he seemed to be suspicious that something was wrong with the bundle in the scullery. Thus we waited, watching each other, neither making any movement, except that now and then the fox raised or lowered his head. At last I got tired of waiting for him to come nearer, and, aiming as well as I could at his indistinct outline, I fired and—missed!...
(This next account, in the same book, was not written by Gosse. It gives us a picture of the dangers in such expeditions.)
As the weather was improving I began to prepare for another start, and on the morning of 7th February [1896] I sent up to our camp under the forked peak four porters and several pack-mules. The last two days had been mild and fine, but we knew that, owing to the immense amount of snow that had fallen on the mountains above 15,000 feet, sides were so precipitous that it would be impossible even to approach it to give aid to anyone who had fallen in. My horse, as I said, slipped at this critical spot, and seemed to us at the moment actually to fall over the edge. We instinctively peered over, expecting to hear the splash as he fell into the torrent; but with an agility and intelligence which seemed well-nigh superhuman, he succeeded in righting himself, and clambered back to the track more like a cat than a horse. He stood trembling like an aspen leaf, evidently realising as well as we did the imminent peril he had been through. We waited for some time to let him recover his nerve. Then, with much patting and soothing, we induced him slowly, step by step, to continue along the path till he was past all danger. It will always be a mystery to me how he succeeded in recovering himself in this marvellous fashion, for after closely examining the spot where he slipped, I came to the conclusion that if a man had fallen as far as he did, he could not possibly have saved himself. From here our path was easy, winding in and about the moraine....
But let's go back now, to when Philip Gosse was 16 years old. What an adventure he shared in, at just the right age. The Highest Andes, (1899) detailed Edward Fitzgerald's South American expedition. Gosse was along as a naturalist, and is included as an author on the resultant book. Here are some fascinating insights from that trip: The Highest Andes, was
...the outcome of seven months' work by myself and my colleagues, Mr. Stuart Vines, Mr. Arthur Lightbody, and Mr. Philip Gosse,in the Andes of Argentina. My expedition had for its object primarily the triangulation of the country immediately surrounding the peak of Aconcagua, America's highest mountain; and secondly, the scaling of the great peak itself, which had up to that time defied the efforts of all who had attempted to gain its summit. ...
This is a quote from the diary of Philip Gosse, included in the volume under consideration.
One of our arrieros, Tomas Sosa by name, told me that at night a fox always visited the camp to pick up any odd scraps of food it found lying about. So the next night I slept in the open shed we called the 'scullery,' and, it being a fine moonlight night, my patience was rewarded by seeing, at about i a.m., what looked like a small slinking shadow within a few yards of me. Unfortunately I had my poncho on, and couldn't get my arms free quickly enough to shoot. The fox was very suspicious of me, probably because of the moonlight shining on the barrels of the gun, and he slunk off behind a small knoll. The moment he was out of sight, I arranged the poncho comfortably for shooting, and, getting the gun up to my shoulder, rested it with my elbows on my knees. I had been squatting in this position for what seemed a very long time, and was just beginning to think that Reynard had left for good, when, behind a bush, I saw two round lights watching me. I kept quite still, and presently the two burning eyes drew a little nearer, and soon I could make out the faint outline of the fox's body. After some hesitation he came out from the bushes into the open space before the camp, into the bright moonlight, his shining eyes looking quite uncanny. I waited quite still, hoping that he would come a little nearer, but he seemed to be suspicious that something was wrong with the bundle in the scullery. Thus we waited, watching each other, neither making any movement, except that now and then the fox raised or lowered his head. At last I got tired of waiting for him to come nearer, and, aiming as well as I could at his indistinct outline, I fired and—missed!...
(This next account, in the same book, was not written by Gosse. It gives us a picture of the dangers in such expeditions.)
As the weather was improving I began to prepare for another start, and on the morning of 7th February [1896] I sent up to our camp under the forked peak four porters and several pack-mules. The last two days had been mild and fine, but we knew that, owing to the immense amount of snow that had fallen on the mountains above 15,000 feet, sides were so precipitous that it would be impossible even to approach it to give aid to anyone who had fallen in. My horse, as I said, slipped at this critical spot, and seemed to us at the moment actually to fall over the edge. We instinctively peered over, expecting to hear the splash as he fell into the torrent; but with an agility and intelligence which seemed well-nigh superhuman, he succeeded in righting himself, and clambered back to the track more like a cat than a horse. He stood trembling like an aspen leaf, evidently realising as well as we did the imminent peril he had been through. We waited for some time to let him recover his nerve. Then, with much patting and soothing, we induced him slowly, step by step, to continue along the path till he was past all danger. It will always be a mystery to me how he succeeded in recovering himself in this marvellous fashion, for after closely examining the spot where he slipped, I came to the conclusion that if a man had fallen as far as he did, he could not possibly have saved himself. From here our path was easy, winding in and about the moraine....
Edmund Gosse, published in 1907 his memoirs about his own parent, Father and Son. It is said to be the first psychological biography. Since Philip Gosse had such a successful career, perhaps he profited from his father's psychological insights.
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