Dr. Hogg vs. “Pyrus” – ‘Beefing’ vs. ‘Beaufin’

Welcome to part two of chapter two of the ‘Beefing’ Apples Story. In this section I’ll be discussing in great detail the dispute that arose in 1853, between Dr. Robert Hogg and a correspondent to a horticultural magazine who went by the name of “Pyrus”, as to the correct name of one particular apple variety: should it be called ‘Norfolk Beefing’ or ‘Norfolk Beaufin’?

Please note: this is one part of one chapter of a much longer series of articles exploring the story of Norfolk Biffins and ‘Beefing’ Apples. Please see the main Table of Contents page for links to the other chapters in this story.

In This Part of Chapter Two

Dr. Hogg vs. “Pyrus” – ‘Beefing’ vs. ‘Beaufin’
– A Very Gentlemanly Bout of Fisticuffs
– A Particularly Beefy ‘Beefing’?
– Can We Declare a Winner on Points?
– “Pyrus” … Unmasked?

A Very Gentlemanly Bout of Fisticuffs

Would you believe me if I told you that the ‘Norfolk Beefing’ apple variety once caused an outbreak of pomological pugilism? Well, such a thing did happen, in the middle of the nineteenth century, and the bout in question took place within that most civilised of arenas: the letters page of a horticultural journal of the day.

The journal in question was The Gardeners’ Chronicle and Agricultural Gazette, and in 1853, the horticultural editor of said journal was the pre-eminent botanist of the era, Professor John Lindley who at the time, amongst his numerous roles and achievements, was the Chair of Botany at the University College London, and Assistant Secretary¹ of the Horticultural Society of London.

In the March 5th, 1853 issue of the magazine, a pseudonymous correspondent going by the nom de plume – or perhaps nom de guerre would be more appropriate – of “Pyrus” put forth the following complaint, in a letter to the editor headed ‘On Changing the Names of Fruits’²:

“Pray, Mr Editor, raise your voice against the alteration in the names of fruits, as you have done against other innovations; let us by all means adhere to the last edition of the Horticultural Society’s Catalogue. I ask this because, on recently looking over ‘British Pomology’, published in 1851, I find Norfolk Beaufin Apple (in old times it was a ‘good end’ or finishing Apple) made Beefing, from the similarity the dried fruit presents to raw beef ; pray, who would buy beef looking like a baked Apple ! It would to a certainty be brown beef … the Catalogue of the Horticultural Society is the best authority for all English pomologists, and we must make it our sole authority, if we wish to avoid much trouble and confusion ; there are a few errors in it which will doubtless be corrected in a future edition, at present let us adhere to it, and our good old names. Pyrus. [We must say that such changes as our correspondent alludes to, or any such silly alterations, reflect no credit on the judgement of the author of ‘British Pomology’, and throw distrust over anything that may be good in his book].”

Please note that I’ve left out a middle section of the letter, in which “Pyrus” complains about two other name-changes or synonym associations made in British Pomology, and have focused on the ‘Beefing’-relevant content. Also, that the square-bracketed section at the end of the letter is an editorial note, and a rather vicious one at that, rather than part of the original “Pyrus” correspondence. And do observe just how keen “Pyrus” is on asserting and maintaining the authority of the latest edition of the Catalogue of Fruits Cultivated in the Garden of the Horticultural Society of London, at Chiswick, which would be the third edition of 1842. Do just bear all that in mind for now though, as I’ll be coming back to each point in a little while.

Taking a look at the detail of the complaint, there’s plenty to unpack and examine. “Pyrus” suggests that ‘Beaufin’ should be taken literally, and its two syllables translated from the French to “good end” (“beau fin”), indicating a “finishing apple”. I think he³ was probably suggesting that ‘Norfolk Beaufin’ was considered suitable for finishing a meal; a good apple for the dessert course. That does seem rather odd though, as ‘Norfolk Beefing / Beaufin’ was nearly always considered to be a kitchen apple, rather than a dessert apple.

The other possibility is that “Pyrus” was saying it was an apple that “finished” the season; a good keeper that would still be edible well into the following spring. The latter makes more sense in terms of the apple’s traits and usage, but perhaps less sense grammatically?

“Pyrus” follows up with a rather weak joke about the colour of beef; that’s something else I’ll come back to. And finally, there’s that rather scathing editorial note. Again, do just bear its general tone in mind for now, as we take a look at Robert Hogg’s initial response.

Hogg was clearly stung by the accusations made by “Pyrus”, and frankly he was having absolutely none of it. He exercised his right to reply in the March 19th edition of the same journal⁴:

“Changing the Names of Fruits (see p. 149) – Under this heading a correspondent, calling himself “Pyrus”, attempts to be witty at my expense. He accuses me of changing the names of fruits in my book on British Pomology, and of not paying sufficient respect to the authority of the Horticultural Society’s catalogue. I confess to neither. In the preface to my book, which he tries to ridicule, he will find this passage, — “The nomenclature I have followed is, except in some instances, for reasons given, that of the London Horticultural Society’s Catalogue … The advantage of this identity of nomenclature is evident, as it sets at rest that mass of confusion which so long existed as to the correct names of fruits.” As instances of this change he mentioned “Norfolk Beefing” … from Norfolk Beaufin … Cannot he distinguish between a change of orthography and a change of nomenclature? What signifies it whether we write Spinage or Spinach? There is no change of nomenclature in adopting either, but if the one is more correct than the other let us have it. How can “Pyrus”, witty and learned as he professes to be, advocate the adoption of such a concoction as the word “Beaufin” is! What language is it? He should know, for he has translated it for us, and tells us it means “good end”. If it is meant for French, when did the noun “fin” become masculine? This “good end” will not do. “Pyrus” must try back, or stick to the “raw beef”, till he can do better, even though it may be unpalatable … But what object can “Pyrus” have in all this? Possibly he had nothing to do and sat down to amuse himself. But let me advise him, in attempting to ridicule others, not to make himself ridiculous.”

Please note that once again, I’ve excised a section from the middle of Hogg’s response, in which he calls “Pyrus” a “Jolly-Gardener”, perhaps suggesting an air of amateurishness, and goes into the detail of the two other apple variety names that “Pyrus” also complained about in his original correspondence.

Hogg clearly took the complaints about his book quite personally, and perhaps unsurprisingly so. In 1853 Hogg was at the beginning of his pomological career, quite possibly having only recently struck out on his own after parting company with his former partners in the Brompton Park Nursery, and here was someone attacking his first publication. No wonder he hit back, pointing out that “Pyrus” clearly hadn’t read the introduction to British Pomology; denying that he was in any way anti the Chiswick catalogue; pointing out that ‘Beefing’ vs ‘Beaufin’ is a matter of orthography rather than nomenclature – in other words, a spelling-variation, not a full name-variation – and highlighting a lack of French linguistic knowledge on the part of his opponent; before, finally, losing his rag and launching into an ad hominem counter-attack on “Pyrus” at the end of the piece. And yet, oddly, he doesn’t address the tone or content of the editorial note, surely the most critical part of the whole article.

Hogg wasn’t the only aggrieved respondent. He was supported by a second: one W. Mason of Necton who, on further investigation, turned out to be a retired army Colonel, and the owner of Necton Hall in Norfolk⁵, who wrote:

“”Pyrus” complains of the frequent change of names in plants and trees and instances the Norfolk “Beefin” as one of them. I am above half a century old; have been born and bred in Norfolk; and have always been cognisant of an Apple, used late in the season, called the “Beef” Apple or “Beefin”, on accounts of its deep red skin; and recollect being, with other Norfolk men, much amused at Sir Joseph Banks’ suggestion that Beefin was a misnomer and that it really was a French and not a Norfolk Apple, and that, in consequence of its long-keeping properties, it no doubt acquired the name of “Beau-fin”. Surprising thought! When any one ever so slightly acquainted with the French tongue knows that “fin” is a noun feminine and “beau” an adjective in the masculine gender, rendering such a suggestion irreconcilable to fact, and absurd. All sorts of bad or pedantic spelling has been given to this redoubtable Apple; some writing “Biffin”, others “Beffin” and Sir Joseph “Beaufin”, but an old Norfolk man always, “Beefin”.”

There are a number of interesting snippets to be gleaned from Col. Mason’s letter. Firstly: he used the slightly shortened ‘Beefin’ which, as I’ll explore in later chapters, could actually a more authentic name-variant than either ‘Beefing’ or ‘Beaufin’.

Secondly: Col. Mason suggested that the renowned botanist, scientist and polymath Sir Joseph Banks was a proponent of the ‘Beaufin’ or ‘Beau-fin’ name-variant. I did look into this idea, but it proved to be something of a dead-end. I couldn’t find any published works by Sir Joseph Banks that referenced ‘Beefin’ or ‘Beaufin’ apples, ‘Norfolk’ or otherwise. I suspect Mr. Mason might have mixed up his pomologists and was perhaps confusing Banks with another writer of a similar era, possibly William Forsyth, who we’ll be meeting in chapter three.

Thirdly: Col. Mason said that multiple “bad or pedantic” name-variants had been applied to the apple, including “Biffin and Beffin”, which suggests Mr Mason was reasonably well-read, pomology-wise, as these name-variants did indeed occur from time to time.

And finally: Col. Mason said that the name ‘Beefing’ most likely comes from the resemblance of the apple’s skin to raw beef, rather than the fruit’s flesh, baked or otherwise, which is an interesting point that I’ll be coming back to in a little while.

Col. Mason also made the assumption that “Pyrus” was alluding to the apple’s long-keeping properties when he called it a “finishing” apple. And he joined Hogg in taking issue with “Pyrus” over the suggestion that ‘Beaufin’ was a French term, similarly pointing out that such a word was grammatically incorrect, due to the mixing of masculine and feminine in the portmanteau.

Seconds Away, Round Two…

“Pyrus” responded to Hogg and Mason’s linguistic accusations – at great length – in the following week’s issue, dated March 26th⁶. Again, I haven’t transcribed the whole letter, which is available online if you’d like to follow along in full detail, but the relevant sections of his follow-up are:

“Changing the Names of Fruits (see p.182) – How strange it is that writers on gardening are so thin-skinned. I only used a gentle whip to Mr. Hogg, with a thong of silk, merely as a caution, and had nothing to do, Mr. Editor, with your lash of whipcord, and yet he is angry with me ; he complains that I have only given three complaints. Well, let us look a little further into the matter … [omitted: discussion of the ‘Siberian Crab’ and ‘Winter Queening’] … Mr. H. is a young author, and, as usual, aims at originality; in 10 years he will think differently to what he does at present. I have reason to believe that the Norfolk Beaufin is not an English Apple. If Mr. H. or Col. Mason will take a ramble among the orchards and gardens of Normandy, they will find the orchardists not very particular in their genders. I have so constantly looked upon the word as a provincial abbreviation, as entirely to have forgotten its incorrect grammatical construction. All lovers of fruit and fruit trees will recollect having received grafts from friends not possessing much pomological knowledge, with such descriptions as the following attached, “Fine kitchen Apple”, “excellent late dessert Apple” and so on. Well, our Beaufin undoubtedly came from France with its description in provincial French, “Beau a la fin ;” and those who have seen the Norfolk Beaufin, grown under the bright sun of France, will acknowledge that it is really beautiful in March and April. This long name would soon be cut short by John Bull, who hates long names … and be made into Beaufin ; and then John, (who seems never to have liked the word Beau, I suppose because it was French) afterwards made it Beefin ; this has been a very common change. The Beauchamps of Norfolk are “Beechamps”, the Beaumonts of Essex are called by the country people “Beemonts”, Belvoir Castle is called “Beevor” Castle; the origin of the name of the Queen’s beef-eaters is well known, and in this way … the “Beau” has become “Bee” until our Apple has been compared to raw beef, and its name supposed to be derived from a fancied resemblance to it … “The reasons given” for departing from the nomenclature of the Horticultural Society’s Catalogue, are not good and sufficient in the instances I have given … and in … “Beefing” … border on the ridiculous ; but I regret I gave way to a merry thought when writing, for I have no wish to cast ridicule on “British Pomology”, or its author. It is a nice little book, and would be much nicer were it less like a descriptive catalogue ; it contains too many names of little or no interest. Mr Diel made his book interesting by writing from close personal observation; for he cultivated a complete collection of fruit trees in pots, so as to have them under his eye. Mr H. can do this, and the results of his practice, coupled with his researches in our quaint old pomologists, will make the remaining portions of his book of much interest to lovers of fruit and fruit trees. My object in writing to you was, and is, to prevent a departure from our present established nomenclature; for if we commence changes we must make Louise Bonne, of Jersey, into Louise Bonne d’Avranches, and Glout Morceau into Buerre d’Aremberg, according to French pomologists.”

“Pyrus” initially protests the innocence of his first letter’s intention, seemingly blaming the magazine’s editor for putting words in his mouth⁷ and then puts up a hearty defence of his position. He provides plenty of rebuttal – mainly based on an assertion that “Beaufin” absolutely is a contraction of the French phrase “beau a la fin”, which subsequently became Anglicised⁸ – but really it all seems like a preamble to that oh, so-pithy put-down at the denouement. He claims that he meant to “cast no ridicule” and then with his next few pen-strokes says that British Pomology is “a nice little book”, but that it would be “much nicer were it less like a descriptive catalogue”? Ouch. Punching below the belt there, surely?

What about the suggestion that if Hogg just popped across to Normandy he would find entire orchards of ‘Beaufin’ apples soaking in glorious French sunshine, all labelled in a rough peasant farmer’s hand as “Beau a la fin”? Well, it’s a pleasing idea, but not one that’s supported by any evidence, at least in any of the pomological sources I’ve been able to check, English or French. I’ll be looking into possible European origins of the ‘Beefing’ group of apples in a later chapter, so I’ll say no more for now, except that I think “Pyrus” was on distinctly shaky ground there. In fact, I rather suspect that, having chosen a hill to die on, he was desperately retro-fitting a justification for his position, unwilling to concede any ground whatsoever.

It was Hogg’s turn to respond, and he did so in the April 2nd issue, which can be found on page 213 of the 1853 collected volume of the magazine:

“”Pyrus” still fails to establish his own definition of “Beaufin”. Even his second attempt is a failure for the expression “Beau à la fin” presupposes the use of the word “Pomme”, which being feminine cannot be coupled with “Beau”. He is, therefore, in as bad a plight as he was before. If, however, he has, as he says, “reason to believe that the Norfolk Beaufin is not an English Apple”, and will give us his reason, it may possibly throw some new light upon the subject; for although the definition I have given was arrived at after much inquiry and intercourse among the orchardists of Norfolk, I state candidly that I am not wedded to my own or the opinions of others when they are found to be at variance with facts; but let us have facts: my desire is to get at the truth. When “Pyrus” says that the “orchardists of Normandy are not very particular in their genders” I agree with him as regards their conversation, but having years ago and for several years anticipated his advice and “taken a ramble among the orchards and gardens of Normandy” I must say that I never found one such instance in the compound name of any fruit, as he would have us to believe does exist; neither do I find any instance among the various catalogues of Norman orchard fruit in my possession. I know a Norman Apple called “Beaufinet”⁹ which signifies “the handsome sly fellow”; if that is of any use to him, and he can find his Beaufin there, he is welcome to the hint, but he must give up the “good end” … I am inclined to believe that Pyrus is so wrapt up in the information he already possesses that he finds fault with everything that is new to him. I really cannot help thinking that he is determined to find fault, for he is not only dissatisfied with the matter, but even the very nature and essence of my book. He says “it is a nice little book and would be much nicer if it were less like a descriptive catalogue”. Now that is just what I want it to be more like. I would it were even more descriptive. I intended it to be in pomology what a Flora is to botany; but if he prefers the story-book style, adapted to pomological subjects, as Miss Wakefield’s “Letters on Botany” or Miss Pratt’s “Flowers and their Associations” are to that science; or rather the simple style of Peter Parley or Old Humphrey; and if he will treat us to “a nice little book” in that way, I am sure it will be most acceptable and interesting. In conclusion I thank Pyrus for his suggestion about growing fruit trees in pots “for practice”; but I am not so fond of that plan as some are. They are, no doubt, pretty toys for old gentlemen, such as Dickins’ Mr. Garland, or elderly ladies like Hood’s Mrs Gardiner, who have nothing else to do than “fiddle” away their time; but I prefer the orchard standard, the garden pyramid, the espalier, and the wall; and if Dr Diel had practised less of that method of fruiting his trees, perhaps we would not have had such mistakes in his work as the same fruit being described under two, and sometimes three different names. I would not advise “Pyrus” to practise that system if he is attempting to follow in Dr Diel’s footsteps.”

Wow. Hogg was definitely on the counter-offensive, and was not letting up; he clearly had no time for protestations of innocence from “Pyrus”, seeing through the rather flimsy claim that no offence was intended, and he hit back on a point-by-point basis: “Pyrus” has failed to deliver a definition of ‘Beaufin’ that actually makes sense; yes, thank you, Hogg has spent time in Normandy, actually, and no, he didn’t see any “beau-a-la-fin” apples over there, nor are there any in his collection of French apple catalogues; there’s a ‘Beaufinet’ in Normandy, and “Pyrus” can have that one, but not ‘Beaufin’.

More ad hominem body-blows followed: “Pyrus” is stuck in his ways, refusing to see the value of anything new; “Pyrus” is a nit-picker; perhaps “Pyrus” prefers books written by women about flowers¹⁰; maybe “Pyrus” should go and write his own “nice little book”, if he’s so jolly clever, and make it one for children¹¹if that’s his level; and if “Pyrus” is such an old man he can “fiddle” with potted trees if he likes, but meanwhile Hogg will be out doing proper orcharding, with espaliers, and trees on walls. So there!

That’s the end of round two, and frankly I think everyone could do with a bit of a breather and a splash of water to their fevered brow…

Ding, Ding! Round Three…

… but we’re not done yet. It’s April 9th, 1853 and here on p. 230 is “Pyrus” again, still standing, and coming back out for another go at Hogg. Which, for some reason, he chose to open with a slight mis-quote from a popular drinking song of the day:

“Down among the dead men let them be.”
“As Mr Hogg has thrown over Dr Diel as an authority we will … return quietly, after this little tempest, to the names in the “Catalogue of the Fruits cultivated the Garden of the Horticultural Society”, the most useful catalogue ever published … I am really obliged to Mr. Hogg for mentioning the “fiddling” nature of fruit tree cultivation in pots, otherwise, after seeing beautiful fruit trees in pots of different kinds at Frogmore, in the Royal gardens, I might, although a man with unbleached hair, have become, like Mr Ingram — according to Mr Hogg’s estimation — a “fiddling” gardener; and besides, all Dr Diel’s numerous errors we owe, according to Mr Hogg, to his cultivating fruit trees in pots, “such pretty toys for old gentlemen”. I hope to grow old very soon if I can then grow such fruits on trees in pots as Mr. Ingram does for her Majesty.”

I have no idea what the significance of the song lyric might be, unless “Pyrus” is somehow appealing to Hogg to let a dead discussion lie. But then, “Pyrus” being “Pyrus”, he can’t resist one more jab at Hogg, this time lobbing in a quite blatant strawman fallacy¹²: accusing Hogg of insinuating that Queen Victoria’s Royal Gardener, Mr. Ingram, is but a “fiddling” horticulturist, because Mr. Ingram, just like Mr. Diel, grows fruit trees in pots. I mean, Mr. Hogg, how could you say such a thing? About the Queen‘s taste in gardeners! And I thought you were a gentleman.

All in all though, it’s a pretty weak showing from “Pyrus”, if you ask me. He’s definitely not found his A-game this round. Is he running out of steam, or out of fresh ideas? Or has he realised he doesn’t have much of a leg left to stand on?

What about Hogg? Did he take another swing at “Pyrus”? Well, not on April 16th, and we can perhaps imagine the triumphant thought that might have crossed his opponent’s mind as he turned to the ‘Home Correspondence’ section of that week’s issue of The Gardeners’ Chronicle and Agricultural Gazette… Hogg had finally surrendered the bout and retreated to lick his wounds by conceding the final word..?!

But no! Hogg was in fine fighting form once again in the April 23rd issue, and this time he really meant business, with a series of blows that are very precisely aimed indeed. On page 261 we find:

“Unfortunately for “Pyrus” the course of reasoning he has pursued in his last, and indeed in all his communications, operates against himself and not against me. If he throws Dr. Diel’s work, as an authority, overboard for the errors it contains, what will he do with the Horticultural Society’s catalogue, which he says in his first communication contains errors also? I did not throw over Dr. Diel as an authority. If I did, where does he find it? I only spoke about “the pots” — the pit into which the worthy Dr. fell. … When I spoke of fruit trees in pots I made no allusion to such cultivation as to be met with at Frogmore under the princely management of Mr. Ingram. I did not even say a word about the system as it is there applied; all my observations were confined to the remarks of “Pyrus” and his “practice”, which he was recommending to me, but which I should be sorry to follow, particularly where the identification of the nomenclature, and the characters of fruits are concerned … When I saw the note of triumph with which he introduced his last communication, I was half prepared to expect that he had made some new discovery tending to establish his two attempts at the definition of “Beaufin”, and his good reasons for believing it is not an English Apple. I expected also find all my arguments “thrown overboard”; but after all it was only a note of alarm, the last flicker of extinguishing taper, a sort of attempt at quietly retiring from “this little tempest”. But “Pyrus” has something more to do before “this little tempest” is over. Let us have no more quibbling, but let him … give his good reasons for believing that the Norfolk Beefin [sic] is not an English Apple … Now, before he writes one sentence more on this subject, let him give these statements straight-forwardly supported by evidence and sound argument. If he can show, to the satisfaction of two respectable pomologists, that I am wrong, I shall give in. If he cannot, then I hope he will, like a man, own himself beaten. I shall nominate the author of the Horticultural Society’s Catalogue as my referee, let him name his. Surely nothing can be fairer.”

I know! It’s getting really good, isn’t it? A detailed rebuttal, a few more passive-aggressive put-downs, and then a feisty ‘put-up-or-shut-up’ challenge? And on St. George’s Day, to boot? Marvellous stuff from Hogg: calling on the support of no less a luminary than the editor of the very Chiswick Catalogue that “Pyrus” was championing as the most, indeed only, authoritative apple reference in the country, and naming that gentleman – who, at the time, was Robert Thompson, the Superintendent of the Chiswick Garden – as his own referee of choice? Such confidence from the young Scotsman! Such swagger!

How would “Pyrus” come back from that one? Another solid blow? A swing and a miss? Perhaps even a graceful concession..?

No such luck, fight fans, because I’m sorry to report that it was at this very moment that one of the editors of The Gardeners’ Chronicle and Agricultural Gazette decided to spoil everyone’s sport, by throwing a pail of cold water on the two combatants, via this editorial post-script to Hogg’s April 23rd letter:

“We think this has gone quite far enough. Disputes about names are always unsatisfactory, leading to no useful result. The true question is not precisely what an ingenious writer happens to think may be right, for that, as the present discussion has shewn, is open to interminable argumentation; the real question is, whether for any reason whatever the names to which the world is accustomed ought to be changed in such a subject as pomology. To attempt to apply to it the rules of systematical science appears to us most objectionable. Even in systematical botany the dicta of Linnaeus are so inconvenient, except within narrow limits, that many botanists absolutely refuse to acknowledge their authority; à fortiori, in so vague a matter as the names of fruit trees and vegetables, they can have no force. The name which a fruit ought to bear in England is that by which the present race of English know it and no other can reasonably be insisted upon. We do not want to be told of the meaning attached to a name by our great grandfathers, we want to know what is now understood by it, and how it is now written; antiquarian erudition will meet with no appreciation in such an inquiry as this. The bane of science is its pedantry: what will become of gardening if it too is to be encumbered by such an incubus!”

What a cheek! “Disputes about names are always unsatisfactory, leading to no useful result”, eh? In which case, why was the editor so keen to stoke the flames back in the March 5th issue, with that distinctly inflammatory note at the end of the original letter from “Pyrus”? The section in the middle is just pure reactionary rhetoric, they diss Linnaeus into the bargain, and then run the jolly old cross of St. George up the flagpole while they’re at it. And just why was said editor so keen to bring the contest to a close at the precise moment when “Pyrus” was on the ropes, and Hogg was about to land the coup de grace? I do have a theory as to why that might be, which I’ll reveal in a little while…

Rather sadly though, this did indeed seem to be the end of the matter. I’ve scoured the correspondence column of the next few issues of The Gardeners’ Chronicle and Agricultural Gazette, through to the end of May 1853, and there are no more mentions of matters pertaining to pomological nomenclature.

Shame on you, Mr Editor. Booo! And indeed: Hisss!

The question that remains though must surely be: who was right, Hogg or “Pyrus”? The answer is… complicated, and is dependent on the unfolding of the remainder of the story of the ‘Beefing’ group of apples. Rather than reveal my conclusions at this point in the tale, I’m going to allow this question to stand for now, and re-address it at a later point in the story, and I’ll put a link here once I’ve revealed my own conclusions.

I will, however, return to the meat of one point of the combatants’ disagreement, by taking a quick look at the idea that the ‘Norfolk Beefing’ apple – either due to the dark red colour of its skin, or its appearance in a dried, pressed, biffin-state – might have been so named due to its resemblance to raw beef; an idea that might not be quite so ridiculous as “Pyrus” protested.

A Particularly Beefy ‘Beefing’?

I have to admit that, like “Pyrus”, I’m not a hundred per cent convinced by Hogg’s suggestion in British Pomology that the name ‘Beefing’ derives from “the similarity the dried fruit presents to raw beef.” See my piece on the history of the Norfolk Biffin for a photo of a modern-day biffin; I think if a butcher tried to sell you¹³ a raw steak that was that particular shade of brown, you wouldn’t be too keen to part with your money.

Could modern, electric oven-baked biffins be lighter in colour than those dried slowly in brick bread ovens? Could Hogg have been referring to the dense, chewy texture of a biffin as being beef-life, rather than its colour? I’m not convinced by either idea.

But what about the suggestion made by Col. Mason that it was “called the “Beef” Apple or “Beefin””, on accounts of its deep red skin”? Does that sound reasonable?

Most people today probably think of raw beef as the bright red, plastic-packaged product we see in supermarkets. But back in the nineteenth century, properly hung and dry-aged beef would have been far more common, and that type of beef has a much deeper, darker, red-brown tone. You can – if you’re so inclined and know which butchers to shop at – buy dry-aged beef today, and if you run an online image search for dry-aged beef, you’ll find plenty of pictures of joints of meat that are a dark reddish-brown in colour, rather than the bright scarlet of a plastic-wrapped steak.

By way of comparison, physical descriptions of ‘Norfolk Beefing/ Beaufin’ have been provided by various writers at various times. Here’s the version penned by Hogg, in British Pomology (1851):

“Skin, smooth, green at first, but changing to yellow, and almost entirely covered with dull brownish red, which is thickest and darkest next the sun ; sometimes it is marked with a few broken stripes of dark crimson …”

I don’t know about you, but that does sound rather dry-aged beef-like to me. It seems that Col. Mason’s suggestion that the apple’s skin colour gave the ‘Norfolk Beefing’ its name is a feasible one.

The devil is clearly in the detail of Hogg’s description which, interestingly, he changed ever-so slightly in the later, expanded fourth (1875) and fifth (1884) editions of The Fruit Manual.

Here’s the relevant excerpt from Hogg’s description of ‘Norfolk Beefing’ in the fourth edition:

“…more correctly Beefing, from the similarity the dried fruit presents to beef.”

And the John Bull-esque edit in the fifth edition:

“…more correctly Beefing, with a good English ring, from the similarity the baked fruit presents to beef.”

Note that in both cases the beef is no longer specifically raw, but Hogg is still comparing the dried / baked fruit – a biffin! – to a joint of meat. Robert Hogg would change his mind in ten years time, eh “Pyrus”? Not bloody likely!

Can We Declare a Winner on Points?

The referee may have called a halt to the bout, with “Pyrus” seemingly on the ropes and about to fall, but can we draw any sensible conclusions as to whether Hogg definitely had the upper hand, and maybe award him a victory on points?

“Pyrus” clearly fancied fancied himself as a bit of a lightning wit. It may be that he was familiar with biffins, read Hogg’s note about the origin of ‘Norfolk Beefing’, and interpreted it in a manner that he found ludicrous enough to make him want to dash off a bit of witty banter at Hogg’s expense. In response, Hogg took much more offense from being ridiculed in a public manner than he did to the particulars of the disputed nomenclature. From that point on, the argument seemed doomed to get out of hand.

Hogg though, seems to have consistently come up with the stronger arguments and the more detailed rebuttals – even if he did resort to personal counter-attacks and wasn’t above a bit of passive-aggressive name-calling – and that final challenge really was a master-stroke. So, yes, I think we can award the bout to Hogg.

I can’t help thinking though that if “Pyrus” hadn’t been such a smart-arse, and had simply submitted a polite query about the name of the apple, Hogg would probably have responded in kind, an informative discussion would have ensued, and we all would have learned something useful. Instead, the exchange ended up being a lot more adversarial – but, let’s admit it, far more entertaining – and resulted in “this little tempest”.

Perhaps the magazine’s editor was right to call a halt to the show when he did, impolite and unseemly as it was rapidly becoming. Although I still say it seems a tad suspicious – again, see the next section – that a halt was called just as Hogg had delivered his ‘put up or shut up’ challenge.

From our point of view though it’s all good fun, and an interesting tale to tell. Speaking of which, I have one last twist to put forward, and whilst it’s speculation on my part all the way… well, see what you think, and please do let me know if you agree, or indeed vehemently disagree, via the comments.

“Pyrus” Unmasked?

By way of a postscript to all of the above: I think I might have worked out the identity of the mysterious “Pyrus”. In fact, I have a suspicion that he could even have been none other than one of the editors of The Gardeners’ Chronicle and Agricultural Gazette: no less a horticultural luminary than – drumroll please! – the renowned Professor John Lindley!

Okay, look, I’ll freely admit that I have no definitive proof, but there do seem to be a few tantalising clues.

Firstly: Pyrus is the botanical name for the genus of plants commonly known in English as ‘pears’. In the early nineteenth century, one species of Chinese pear carried the botanical name Pyrus sinensis, having been first described by one John Lindley – yes, the John Lindley – back in 1826¹⁴.

This does establish a link between John Lindley and the Pyrus genus. Could Lindley – wishing to preserve his editorial and professorial dignity, whilst offering a sly clue to those in the know – have therefore adopted “Pyrus” as a nom-de-plume when he decided to take the young upstart Hogg to task? It’s a bit tenuous, I know, but bear with me, there’s more.

Secondly: as I’ll be discussing in chapter three of this story, John Lindley was very closely involved with the Horticultural Society of London’s Chiswick Garden. He began as an assistant to then secretary Joseph Sabine in the 1820s, before a financial scandal and a very public falling out in the early 1830s led to Sabine’s retirement from office. Lindley escaped censure and continued as the garden’s Assistant Secretary, working alongside Robert Thompson, who, as we’ve seen was still the Superintendent of the Chiswick garden when this all kicked off in 1853.

Could that explain why “Pyrus”, a.k.a. Lindley, was so keen on pronouncing the Chiswick Catalogue to be the authoritative source of pomological information in Great Britain? Could Lindley have viewed Hogg’s British Pomology as a direct challenge to his colleague Robert Thompson’s authority, as expressed via said catalogue, and so sought to belittle the new book’s importance?

Thirdly: John Lindley edited his father George Lindley’s book A Guide to the Orchard and Kitchen Garden (1831) and in this work, a slight change was made to Lindley Snr.’s preferred name for the apple in question, when it was given as ‘Norfolk Beaufin’. In an earlier publication George Lindley had suggested that plain ‘Beaufin’ should be the preferred name of the apple, with ‘Norfolk Beefin’ given as a synonym, but in 1831 the preferred name seems to have been brought in line with the preferred Chiswick Catalogue version, presumably by the project’s editor, John. Once again, I’ll be exploring that episode in more detail in later chapters, so for now I’ll just mention it as another potential reason why Lindley, if he was indeed “Pyrus”, might have strongly preferred ‘Norfolk Beaufin’, and criticised Hogg’s direct reversal of the synonym relationship. Perhaps if ‘Beaufin’ was the name-variant that his father had used for the apple, then ‘Beaufin’ it was damned well going to stay?

Not convinced yet? How about this?

Fourthly: in John Lindley 1799-1865, Gardener-Botanist and Pioneer Orchidologist (1999), edited by William T. Stearn, there’s a chapter, written by Stearn himself, on ‘The Life, Times and Achievements of John Lindley’. In a sub-section headed ‘George Glenny’s attacks on Lindley’¹⁵ we learn that, in Stearn’s opinion, Lindley certainly wasn’t someone who avoided confrontation:

“Despite his notorious hot temper, his lack of tact in dealing with humble gardeners, his vigorously expressed opinions and resentment at opposition, Lindley was a warm-hearted and generous man on good terms with most of his botanical and horticultural contemporaries, but certainly not with George Glenny (c. 1793 – 1874). A horticultural journalist as forceful and fearless in giving offence as Lindley himself and quick with a stinging comment … Glenny obviously enjoyed controversy.”

Note Stearn’s description of Lindley’s apparent modus operandi: “hot temper”, “lack of tact”, “vigorously expressed opinions”, “resentment at opposition”, “forceful and fearless in giving offence”. I don’t know about you, but that all sounds quite “Pyrus”-like to me.

Mind you, Stearn’s description of Glenny as being equally “quick with a stinging comment” sounds quite “Pyrus”-like as well, and in 1850, Glenny had published his Hand-Book to the Fruit and Vegetable Garden, in which he lists ‘Norfolk Beaufin’ rather than ‘Norfolk Beefing’. But if Glenny was so keen to attack Lindley – whose Gardener’s Chronicle Glenny had always seen as a direct rival to his own publications¹⁶ – and the Horticultural Society in general, on a regular basis, why would he have insisted so forcefully on the authority of the Chiswick catalogue whilst having a go at Robert Hogg’s British Pomology instead? It just seems likely to me that Lindley had more skin in the game than Glenny.

Fifthly: do you remember that stinging editorial rebuke at the end of the first “Pyrus” letter? Here’s a reminder of the gist of it:

“We must say that such changes as our correspondent alludes to, or any such silly alterations, reflect no credit on the judgement of the author of ‘British Pomology’, and throw distrust over anything that may be good in his book.”

Bear in mind that this is an editorial note, and the editor of the magazine was John Lindley. So in his editorial role Lindley wasn’t afraid to express strong opinions – “silly alterations”, “no credit on the judgement of the author”, “throw distrust over anything that may be good” – about British Pomology, which he had clearly taken some exception to, but perhaps he needed a set-up? A letter to the editor, that he could respond to with a second opinion that strengthened the first? It could well be that one was conveniently forthcoming from a third party. Or he might have decided just to pen one himself.

Likewise, of course, that final editorial note, closing the debate, was most likely written by Lindley. So when he states:

“… the real question is, whether for any reason whatever the names to which the world is accustomed ought to be changed in such a subject as pomology …”

… Lindley is once again saying that the Chiswick catalogue will do perfectly nicely, thank you very much, no need to change anything. Just as “Pyrus” repeatedly states in his letters.

Are you convinced yet? No? Okay, here’s one last bit of conjecture, let’s see if that will do the trick.

Sixthly and finally: I rather suspect that Hogg had become aware, or at least strongly suspected, that Lindley was behind the “Pyrus” moniker, which is why he called his opponent’s bluff in that final letter by nominating the editor of the Chiswick Catalogue – the aforementioned Robert Thompson, a close colleague of Lindley’s – as his own referee in that put-up-or-shut-up challenge.

Perhaps Lindley then realised he had been rumbled? The whole thing had clearly gotten out of hand, and Hogg was in the much stronger position. Better, surely, for Lindley to end it before a conclusion was reached that could see his pseudonymity exposed, his arguments defeated and no honourable course remaining to him but to apologise; something that Lindley doesn’t sound very likely to have felt inclined to do.

In which case, it seems to me that he might have had a very good reason to bow out of his increasingly undignified public spat with Hogg as gracefully as he could – and most importantly for his own ego: without actually having to declare Hogg the winner – by using his editorial position to call a halt to the contest. Although perhaps he just couldn’t resist that concluding opportunity to make one last barbed comment, just so he could have the final word…

As with all the speculative theories I’m coming up with in the course of this story, I’ll most likely never know how true any of the above might even vaguely be. But I’ve enjoyed exploring the incident and telling the tale, however tall it may be.

But now, you may be relieved to learn that I, too, have reached the point at which I think it’s time to move on from this particular episode. Back to the main narrative!

Footnotes

1
From what I’ve read, it seems as though the post of Assistant Secretary carried far more weight, in terms of day-to-day operational responsibility, than the titular post of Honorary Secretary. Perhaps the roles were akin to the modern-day CEO and Chair of a company? ↩︎
2
The Gardeners’ Chronicle and Agricultural Gazette, collected volume for 1853, p.149 ↩︎
3
I think I’m on safe ground in assuming that any Victorian-era person with the free time and sense of righteous indignation to complain to the editors of a horticultural magazine about the re-naming of an apple variety – and then to do so pseudonymously – would almost definitely have been a man. ↩︎
4
ibid. p.182 ↩︎
5
The hall, like so many, was demolished before the 1950s. The site of the hall itself is now covered in either agricultural or light industrial units. The nearby Hall Farm, according to the 1892-1914 series OS map, once boasted a walled garden and walled orchard beside it, with glasshouses as well, but these are all long gone. ↩︎
6
The Gardeners’ Chronicle and Agricultural Gazette, collected volume for 1853, p.197) ↩︎
7
This is a particularly intriguing deflection, for reasons that I’ll come back to later. ↩︎
8
I’ll be looking at the potential linguistics of the ‘Beaufin’ suffix in more detail in a later chapter. ↩︎
9
A useful piece of information: this could explain the inclusion of ‘Beaufinette’ in the earlier editions of the Chiswick catalogue. ↩︎
10
I’m only picking up on the tone and inference of Hogg’s words here, please note that I do not share his views. ↩︎
11
Peter Parley was the pseudonym of American author Samuel Griswold Goodrich, who wrote non-fiction books for younger readers, and was likewise used as a pseudonym by George Mogridge, who also wrote 47 religious tracts for children under the name “Old Humphrey”. ↩︎
12
“The strawman fallacy occurs when one misrepresents an argument so that it becomes easier to attack”, as per logicalfallacies.org. ↩︎
13
I’m addressing just the omnivores in the room for a moment… ↩︎
14
As it happens, the pear in question was re-named Pyrus lindleyi in John Lindley’s honour due to a clash with an earlier use of Pyrus sinensis to describe another species – as per the Proceedings of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences for 1915, p. 230 – but this didn’t happen until 1915, so isn’t directly relevant to the point I’m making. Oh, and this particular species has since been re-classified as a synonym of Pyrus pyrifolia, according to the Kew Gardens Plants of the World Online database. ↩︎
15
Stearns says that Glenny – described in a Gardens Trust blog article as “perhaps the most cantankerous Victorian gardener imaginable” – was the editor of a rival horticultural magazine and regularly used its pages to throw mud at Lindley’s work and at the Horticultural Society of London in general. ↩︎
16
Per ‘George Glenny Grumbles On’ on thegardenstrust.blog. ↩︎