Healers' wheels: Victorian doctors and their bicycles
Towards the end of the 19th century, British country doctors adopted the bicycle as a handy mode of transport
Voiceover note: I used Substack’s own recording facility instead of Audacity this time and there are a few bits where it skips or introduces noise - I’ll return to the usual method next week!
A Victorian country doctor had to be ready to travel long distances as quickly as possible at any time of the day or night. While horses remained the obvious mode of transport throughout the era, some energetic general practitioners began to adopt the bicycle as a convenient and cost-effective way of getting around.
Until about 1885, cycling wasn’t really a viable proposition for a doctor’s rounds. The high-wheel cycles later known as penny-farthings were available, but it was too much of a faff trying to get off and on at each house call. The safety bicycle, followed in 1888 by the pneumatic tyre, made cycling a lot more attractive. It was ideal for town-based doctors travelling within a radius of a few miles; in the country cycling required a bit more fitness and motivation, but still had its advantages.
One keen medical proponent of the bicycle was Dr John Bolton Emmerson (1854-1911), who wrote an article titled ‘Practical Hints on Cycling for the Country Practitioner’ in the Lancet, 22 October 1898.
Emmerson, who was originally from South Shields and a graduate of Durham University, spent most of his career in Biggleswade, Bedfordshire. He had been interested in cycling as a youngster, way back in the days of the heavy 'bone shaker' of the 1860s. Now, in his forties, he was more active than ever. He extolled the cycle's power to bring its rider closer to nature – birds ignored it, as if they knew the rider could not carry a gun, and he enjoyed watching hares ‘career madly backwards and forwards’ in the lamplight on midnight calls.
Handy hints for the cycling doctor
In his article, Emmerson gave advice to general practitioners thinking of taking up cycling. It was wise to have two bicycles if you could afford it, because getting up for a late-night emergency and finding a flat tyre was not only inconvenient but also potentially deadly for the patient. Having a dedicated cycle room rather than consigning the machine to the coal-house meant the owner could spend 'many an agreeable half hour' tinkering with the cycle's adjustments and keeping it in good order. The choice of saddle was important too. With perhaps more detail than we needed to know, Emmerson warned that ‘perineal pressure’ could be a problem, and he recommended Christy saddles as being comfortable and featuring ‘the cooling effect of the air-channel up the centre.’
As bicycle theft was common – particularly when doctors left their cycle outside a patient's house – Emmerson recommended that owners write their name and address on the inside of the tyre so there could be no doubt about ownership if it were recovered. The bicycle should be equipped with a satchel containing a repair kit, pump, wrench, matches, a roll-up light overcoat, a small towel, a spare handkerchief, and some compressed tea tablets in case you had a chance to get some boiling water.
Bicycle or horse?
A significant advantage of the bicycle was that you did not have to spend valuable minutes tacking up a horse – or waking up a groom and getting him to do it. The latter option would prove troublesome for Emmerson – his groom Frederick Ireland left after an incident where he had been slow getting the horse ready, which meant Emmerson was too late to a dying patient. On another occasion, Ireland got annoyed because he had harnessed the horse only for his boss to take the bicycle instead. His departure could have been the end of the matter, but in November 1898 – just a couple of weeks after the cycling article was published – he turned up drunk at Emmerson’s house and walloped him with a stick (Biggleswade Chronicle, 18 November 1898).
The bicycle could not entirely replace the horse but it did mean horses need not be worked so hard. Emmerson still kept two horses, but turned them out to grass for the summer. When the winter mud made cycling more difficult, the horses were brought back into work, and because they had not been hammering along hard road surfaces during the drier months, they suffered fewer injuries. Emmerson estimated that a horse's working life could be three times as long when it was supplemented with a bicycle.
What to wear
In a phrase that shows just how much the implications of language can change over the decades, Emmerson wrote: ‘No one now objects to seeing a business man wearing knickers and stockings in the country.’ Knickerbockers were popular as cycling attire, but it was also fine to wear ‘trousers turned up neatly twice at the bottom.’ A flannel shirt with a linen collar, a bright tie, Norfolk jacket and tweed cap completed the outfit. In the summer, when flies and dust were a nuisance, the cyclist could take a cheap pair of pince-nez, break out the glass and cover them with black crepe, which was see-through enough not to impede progress but would protect the eyes.
Danger ahead!
Bicycles carried their own set of dangers – while a horse could easily negotiate a pothole or fallen branch, such unexpected obstacles could bring the cyclist to grief. Newspapers of the 1890s carried regular reports of cyclists being injured or killed, and among these was a proportion of doctors. In 1898, a practitioner in Selkirk, John Dodds, had a 'bad spill' when he hit a drain, incurring a severe cut on his forehead and a ruined bicycle (Edinburgh Evening News, 19 August 1898), and just a few days after starting a new practice on Rousay in the Orkneys, Dr Russell Stritch collided with a stone and sailed twelve yards through the air, knocking himself out upon landing (Dundee Evening Telegraph, 12 July 1898). The previous year, when riding home from dinner with two fellow staff-members of the Whittingham Asylum near Preston, a young doctor named Stephenson suffered a malfunction while going downhill and was 'sharply precipitated over the machine on his head.' He fractured his skull and later died in hospital. (Bolton Journal and Guardian, 18 September 1897).
Leisure time
When all went well, however, the bicycle gave the country doctor a new opportunity to have a break from his duties – if he fancied a Sunday excursion he could nip out on the bike for a couple of hours, and did not have to rely on train timetables. When the inevitable patient appeared just as he was setting off, he need not write off the whole day due to missing a train. Cycling was also a sociable pursuit – as it grew in popularity there could be quite a holiday atmosphere on the roads and a leisure ride provided the doctor with much-needed respite from the isolation and over-work of his career.
Although the motor car would later take over as a speedier form of transport, the bicycle had its medical heyday and made an important contribution to the ability of doctors to reach their patients before it was too late.
HistMed Highlights
ANTIQUES & FILM DEMO: The Museum of Interesting Things presents The History of Quack Medical Devices at a Secret Speakeasy event at The Loft, 177 Prince Street, Soho, NYC. Featuring a showing of rare 16mm films from the 1940s, 50s and 60s, plus antique health gadgets. 8pm EDT, 29 October 2023, $10.
EXHIBITION: The Cult of Beauty opens at the Wellcome Collection, Euston Road, London NW1 on 26 October. Featuring over 200 items, including historical objects, artworks, films and new commissions, this exhibition considers the influence of morality, status, health, age, race and gender on the evolution of ideas about beauty. Free admission.
TALK: A Life in Forensic Medicine. Renowned forensic pathologist Dr James Grieve explores the changes in forensic medicine over the past half century, and considers whether the outcome of past murder cases might have been different with modern techniques. 7.30pm, 31 October, Robert Gordon University, Aberdeen, AB10 7GJ, £2.
TOUR: The next Women and Medicine London walking tour is on 27 October, 12.30pm, beginning at Euston Station. Tour guide Sylvia McNamara shares the stories of women who with fortitude, determination and compassion overcame countless hurdles to become ground-breaking medical professionals. £21.