Mrs. A. and I did not like each other. She was a colleague and friend of my mother. I considered her as yet another of life’s insufferable bossy boots: a woman convinced of her own righteousness, and one of the few people that could bully my mother into submission.
Mrs. A. thought me a spoilt brat.
There was truth in both descriptions.
When the slaughter of the snails happened, we were living in a terrace house in North Carlton. I was fourteen. As with most terrace houses there was a tiny front patch and a long, narrow strip at the back. Our next-door neighbours were gardeners, and their back yard was a cornucopia of fruit and vegetables, not to mention chooks for eggs, chooks that were probably eventually destined for the kitchen. Our back yard was inhabited by a few very tough shrubs planted by previous tenants, with a long washing line running its length. It was ideal for my mother, who had neither the time nor the inclination to garden.
It was also a haven for snails. That is, until Mrs. A. spotted them and demanded their annihilation. With the certainty of a cold war warrior directing her troops, Mrs. A. ordered me to collect the snails. Once collected she lit the copper and emptied the bucket’s contents into the fire.
Not only was I horrified, but felt an inordinate guilt that I was complicit in this brutality. I abused my mother for allowing it to happen. She agreed.
This happened at about the same time as I had read an ode to snails in a book by Gerald Durrell. He could not understand how gardeners could obliterate this glorious example of evolution to protect plants lacking personality.
I doubt that gardeners would agree.
I did.
Haunted by the snail massacre, I announced to my mother that I would no longer eat meat. The issue that no animal willingly chose death had bothered me for a while. My mother called me a nuisance, but respected my decision and could understand why I had made it.
I confess that it took over ten years before I actually stopped eating meat altogether. Until then it was an on/off affair, something along the lines of “Lord, make me chaste, but not yet”.
The trigger was Peter Singer’s Animal Liberation first published in 1976. Until Singer’s book I used to apologise when invited to dinner: “I know I’m being a nuisance, sorry” . That stopped after reading Singer’s book. I didn’t lecture, but neither did I offer a grovelly apology.
The way we farm animals as though they were insentient machines was not something I could support.
It’s been an interesting journey. The snails were the catalyst, a turning point; Animal Liberation sealed it. It has probably been the most influential book I have read, and possibly one of the most influential books written. When I first became vegetarian, eating out was no fun as there were no vegetarian options. The restaurant would normally direct me to the fish dishes. When we ate out, my partner would joke: “What are you having? Salad and chips?”
Chinese and Lebanese became favourite options.
What a change in fifty years. We’ve had the explosion of ethnic restaurants and of groups with dietary restrictions; almost all food venues now include not just a vegetarian option but a vegan one as more and more people reject meat. Even Benalla’s Coles now offers a dedicated vegan fridge, with “vegan” proudly stamped on the packaging of processed food. This shift has happened for a variety of reasons: health, religious, animal welfare and more.
So, here’s to snails, gastropods with an amazing physical structure and a private life to match. As Van Gogh said “If you truly love nature, you will find beauty everywhere”
Delfina Manor
October 2024
Mrs. A. thought me a spoilt brat.
There was truth in both descriptions.
When the slaughter of the snails happened, we were living in a terrace house in North Carlton. I was fourteen. As with most terrace houses there was a tiny front patch and a long, narrow strip at the back. Our next-door neighbours were gardeners, and their back yard was a cornucopia of fruit and vegetables, not to mention chooks for eggs, chooks that were probably eventually destined for the kitchen. Our back yard was inhabited by a few very tough shrubs planted by previous tenants, with a long washing line running its length. It was ideal for my mother, who had neither the time nor the inclination to garden.
It was also a haven for snails. That is, until Mrs. A. spotted them and demanded their annihilation. With the certainty of a cold war warrior directing her troops, Mrs. A. ordered me to collect the snails. Once collected she lit the copper and emptied the bucket’s contents into the fire.
Not only was I horrified, but felt an inordinate guilt that I was complicit in this brutality. I abused my mother for allowing it to happen. She agreed.
This happened at about the same time as I had read an ode to snails in a book by Gerald Durrell. He could not understand how gardeners could obliterate this glorious example of evolution to protect plants lacking personality.
I doubt that gardeners would agree.
I did.
Haunted by the snail massacre, I announced to my mother that I would no longer eat meat. The issue that no animal willingly chose death had bothered me for a while. My mother called me a nuisance, but respected my decision and could understand why I had made it.
I confess that it took over ten years before I actually stopped eating meat altogether. Until then it was an on/off affair, something along the lines of “Lord, make me chaste, but not yet”.
The trigger was Peter Singer’s Animal Liberation first published in 1976. Until Singer’s book I used to apologise when invited to dinner: “I know I’m being a nuisance, sorry” . That stopped after reading Singer’s book. I didn’t lecture, but neither did I offer a grovelly apology.
The way we farm animals as though they were insentient machines was not something I could support.
It’s been an interesting journey. The snails were the catalyst, a turning point; Animal Liberation sealed it. It has probably been the most influential book I have read, and possibly one of the most influential books written. When I first became vegetarian, eating out was no fun as there were no vegetarian options. The restaurant would normally direct me to the fish dishes. When we ate out, my partner would joke: “What are you having? Salad and chips?”
Chinese and Lebanese became favourite options.
What a change in fifty years. We’ve had the explosion of ethnic restaurants and of groups with dietary restrictions; almost all food venues now include not just a vegetarian option but a vegan one as more and more people reject meat. Even Benalla’s Coles now offers a dedicated vegan fridge, with “vegan” proudly stamped on the packaging of processed food. This shift has happened for a variety of reasons: health, religious, animal welfare and more.
So, here’s to snails, gastropods with an amazing physical structure and a private life to match. As Van Gogh said “If you truly love nature, you will find beauty everywhere”
Delfina Manor
October 2024
* Written for the 'As Time Goes By' memoir writing topic 'Turning Point' in October 2024.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Land_snail (worth a read, you’ll never look at snails in the same light!)
Disclaimer: I wrote this before I heard about the film “Memoirs of a snail”. It’s the cosmic brain at work again… ☹ ...
Disclaimer: I wrote this before I heard about the film “Memoirs of a snail”. It’s the cosmic brain at work again… ☹ ...
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