What’s in a word?
In the 19th century, one word sparked an argument between two august educational bodies, one in London and the other in Edinburgh. This was a dispute over one word which had the potential to affect livelihoods and change animal welfare for the better. And yet they could not agree.
What was that word?
Three little letters: “V-e-t”.
The nub of the problem was that back in the 18th and early 19th century, anyone could call themselves a vet and sell their services as such. From pig-gelders to farriers, stablehands to quack animal doctors (and indeed trained veterinarians) – could all claim the moniker of being “vets” since the word was not protected. The implication was that when a farmer’s cow or a lady’s lapdog was sick, there was no guarantee the ‘vet’ they summoned would help rather than harm. Imagine the furor, if, in the modern day, anyone could call themself a dentist, advertise their services, and set about drilling your teeth…with their only training a YouTube video. Such was the situation back in the 18th century, and it didn’t sit well with the Royal Veterinary College (RVC) in London [founded 1791], or their governing body the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons (RCVS) [founded 1844.]
The RCVS argued only those who were properly trained should be allowed to call themselves a vet. Their aim was to create trust in the word vet, so clients had confidence in the knowledge of the physician. By protecting or restricting the use of the word ‘vet’ to those who had studied veterinary science, this would distinguish professionals from the cow leechers, farriers, and quacks selling unproven remedies and making misleading claims.
Unfortunately, back in the real world, a vicious circle developed. With a lack of regular paying clients prepared to pay the higher fee of a trained vet, market forces were in play with the majority choosing care based on price rather than proficiency. This isn’t to say all those that tended these animals were ‘quacks’; indeed some were experts in what they did, but with limited experience, which meant an owner taking pot-luck with their animal’s care.
The other side of this vicious circle was the vet schools themself. To invest in facilities and research, meant having money to spend. If would-be vets couldn’t see their way to earning a living after their studies, then why bother to enroll? Low roll calls meant a low income for the schools, which deprived the educational institutions of the lifeblood of development – investment.
But you guessed it. Unqualified enthusiasts were cheaper than a ‘professional’ animal doctor and so they remained the first choice for many. It was only when the quack failed and the animal was beyond the point of recovery, that an expensive ‘vet’ was called in. Of course, by then the poor patient usually died, which did nothing to promote public confidence in the veterinary profession. All of this was frustrating for those who wished to analyze which medicines worked and which didn’t, by investing time and money in a veterinary education. These people realized that only by pooling experience and teaching others would the standard of animal care improve.
So how much did a wannabe vet need to pay in for a veterinary education? In the 19th century, the course was limited and superficial, consisting of two, five-month terms spread over two years. And this for the princely sum of £40. And if you’re wondering what £40 would buy you in the 19th century, it was two horses or seven cows, or equivalent to what a skilled craftsman earned in 200 days.
The RCVS wanted to progress and their solution to this conundrum was to protect those who could call themself a “vet”. Their reasoning was with only trained professionals using the title, the public would better understand the value and accept the higher cost. In turn, they hoped for more students to enroll, in anticipation of recovering their investment once they qualified.
Now you might suppose this was a no-brainer way to improve standards. You might also think other universities in the same field would think this a great plan. So why then, in 1866 when the RCVS proposed a legal injunction against unqualified practice, did they lose the case? It might come as a surprise but the strongest objection came not from lay people with livelihoods at stake, but from William Dick, founder of the Edinburgh vet school (1828).
There are different theories as to why Edinburgh vet school rebelled against their sister school. One explanation is a course that resulted in a qualification required a syllabus and exams, which needed overseeing. The RCVS, now established as the governing body, saw this as part of their natural role. However, William Dick in his Edinburgh base disliked the idea of London rule and is thought to have done what he could to scupper the London plans.
But at that time, there may be another, less divisive reason that “vet” did not attain protected status. It was argued and widely held that the state of knowledge amongst vet professionals, was not yet far enough advanced from that of gifted amateurs, to warrant special treatment. A contemporary description of mid-19th century trained vets describes them as:
“Little, if at all, removed from the illiterate farrier or cow-leech.”
It is against this background that we encounter, Hugh Dangerfield, a character in “The Woman Who Paints Horses”. Hugh is a ‘proper’ veterinarian who completed the RVC’s two-year course and is dedicated to furthering the veterinary profession through learning and knowledge. We meet Hugh when he shelters Grace Kingsley and her sister after they flee the family home; and in so doing Grace finds artistic inspiration in Hugh’s collection of equine anatomical drawings.
