David Heppell, 1937 - 2004

By Peter Dance

David Heppell, a member ot Conchological Society since 1959 died, in his 67th year. Born at Gosport in Hampshire on 21st November 1937, he was the eldest of three children, his two sisters, Carole and Janet, survive him. As a child David was blessed with an inquiring mind and a determination to get to the bottom of things, collecting and studying postage stamps, books, fossils, insects, shells, and anything puzzling or odd. Indeed, he delighted in all things strange or unexplained. Words fascinated him and he came to attach great importance to their meaning and correct usage. He developed a skill at card games, such as Bridge and Whist, and became a good chess player. Such interests and skills may have distanced him from his schoolfellows. Even as an adult he seems to have regarded himself as an outsider. He once told his friend and colleague of many years standing, Geoff Swinney, ‘that he always felt something of a loner and that he had few friends’.

After leaving school he studied dentistry at University College, London, from 1956 to 1961. Having qualified as a dentist, he joined the School Dental Service. Realising that examining other persons' teeth was not to his liking, he resigned after about six months. On the other hand, malacology was to his liking. Having investigated the presence on the Hampshire coast of Mercenaria mercenaria (L. 1758), he published his first article on molluscs in his school magazine (Heppell, 1957). He followed this up four years later with a more comprehensive article on this introduced species in our journal (Heppell, 1961b). By then David had made my acquaintance, occasionally visiting me at the Natural History Museum where I had been working since 1957. We became friends and met frequently, the skating rink at nearby Bayswater being a favourite venue. Although there was never any doubt that his preferred forms of exercise were cerebral, he donned his skates regularly and attempted, doggedly and usually unsuccessfully, to stay upright on them. His watchword, from the beginning to the very end, was determination.

David's chance to become professionally involved with molluscs and their shells came about in an unlikely way in 1962. I had been approached by the Linnean Society of London to overhaul and write a report upon the Linnaean shell collection then in a sorry state. Having accepted that it would take a year to achieve this objective satisfactorily, the Linnean Society agreed to award a grant to David for that length of time. The grant was to pay him for doing my job in the Natural History Museum, the museum continuing to pay me my normal salary. He filled my shoes efficiently, but his list of publications suggests that he may have spent a certain amount of his time investigating things that were not part of his remit.

In 1963, after filling my shoes for a year, he had the opportunity to do three years post-graduate research at the University of Glasgow, under the watchful eye of the distinguished marine biologist Professor C. M. Yonge. His research topic was ‘A comparative anatomical and ecological study of European Cardiacea’. The research involved was not to his liking, however, and he never submitted his thesis. In any case, having already acquired first-hand experience of museum work, he had joined the Royal Scottish Museum in Edinburgh as a Senior Research Fellow in October 1966, ostensibly ‘to study taxonomy of the Mollusca with particular reference to the Amphineura, and to continue his revision of the list of British Marine Mollusca and to prepare a report on the Mollusca of the Celtic Sea.’ (I. Finlay, Report on the Royal Scottish Museum for the year 1966). How well he fulfilled these objectives is not for me to say, but another glance at his list of publications suggests that he may have been distracted by the study of zoological nomenclature. For the rest of his working life, indeed, he was involved with the labyrinthine ramifications of this study, not just as an academic exercise, but a professional occupation. For some years he was a Commissioner on the board of the International Commission of Zoological Nomenclature, his expertise being acknowledged by all who benefited from it. Undoubtedly, that expertise was founded his intense love of words.

Circumstances beyond his control may have prevented him from becoming a model curator, but organising molluscan shells would not have given him the same satisfaction as organising words anyway. Nevertheless, that he made a valiant effort to succeed in a difficult job is clear from a CV he prepared for himself. ‘I have had to design and set up a Mollusca Section from scratch,’ it reads, ‘devise storage and documentation systems, work out a policy for acquisitions, field work and display, and train staff.’ More a closet naturalist than a field worker, he made relatively few excursions into the great outdoors in search of molluscs. Those he made were probably more rewarding socially than productive materially. Delving into the mysteries of molluscan anatomy was not his forte, either, so he may have surprised everyone when he attempted, with some success, to dissect a large squid in his office. Never happier than when poring over books, his preferred environment was a library, a well-filled one being always available to him at home. There were occasions, however, when a particular research project demanded his presence elsewhere. He travelled to the Indian sub-continent in 1982 and 1984, each time accompanied by his third wife, Frances, with the object of investigating the present state of the chank industry. Working under sometimes difficult conditions, he observed the many different aspects of an activity few westerners have bothered to investigate. A tangible result of his studies was the excellent exhibit about the chank (Turbinella pyrum) he prepared for his museum. Unfortunately, he never published an account of his work on this inflential gastropod.

David was prepared to go to extraordinary lengths in his research before deciding he could go no further, tenaciously following up obscure references, never afraid to contact leading authorities for their personal views. Nowhere is this more apparent than in his lengthy article dealing with the early history of malacology (Heppell, 1995g). The notes and bibliography at the end of this excellent piece of work, occupying as much space as the main text, are not meant to be passed over unread! When I was engaged to write a series of six books on Classic Natural History Prints it was to David I turned for help with the volume dealing with molluscs and their shells. The volume we co-authored (Dance & Heppell, 1991) is easily the best of the series. Billed by the book trade as ‘a modern rarity’, it has also become virtually unobtainable, a tribute to David's logical approach to the subject.

He was very interested in the nature of error and how errors are perpetuated, collecting information about animals or disconnected parts of animals which have been misidentified as molluscs or vice versa. The subject of pseudoconchology had long interested me, too, and having collected many examples, we had intended to publish our conclusions about them in a small book. Latterly, David became deeply involved with cryptozoology. Having previously helped me with my book Animal Fakes & Frauds (1976), he continued to share information with me on curious creatures real and imagined. We had hoped to co-author a book about horned hares and he had hoped to write something substantial about mermaids. Death intervened before any of these projects could be realised.

The International Commission on Zoological Nomenclature was not the only organisation to benefit from David's abilities. As Editor he produced seven numbers The Journal of Conchology from December 1965 to October 1968. He also helped to launch the Porcupine Society, an organisation formed for the purpose of studying marine molluscs and other life forms in the northern parts of the United Kingdom. In 1986 he took on the organisation of the Ninth International Malacological Congress, almost single-handedly. Held in Edinburgh from 31 August to 6 September 1986. the Congress achieved an unqualified success, an achievement the more remarkable as Frances had timed the arrival of their son, Sam, to coincide with the event! A few years later, under less pressing circumstances, she produced a girl, Sophie. The two children, acquired relatively late, brought David great happiness and he delighted in following their progress through life. Having retired from his museum job, he agreed to a proposal by Frances, a Canadian citizen, that the four of them move to British Columbia, where she had spent her childhood. The move was realised in 1998, when the family moved into the property at Gibson’s Landing, Vancouver, vacated for them by Frances' parents.

Having settled in to his Canadian home, David resumed his interests, especially philately. Both he and Sam had entered competitions as members of the Edinburgh Philatelic Society, David becoming a member of the India Study Circle in 1995. Now what had been a part-time hobby became an obsession. David joined the South Asia Philatelic Study Group of the Pacific Northwest and was soon making original contributions to the study of the postal history of the Indian sub-continent, including ‘A Key to the “Conch Shell” Issues of Travancore’. Regrettably, his health began to be undermined by a blood disorder and he declined rapidly. He died on Saturday 24 April 2004, mentally alert and cheerful to the end. A commemoration of his life and achievements was held near his Canadian home on Sunday, 6 June 2004, attended by a large assembly of friends and relatives. I was privileged to take part in this moving event which proved that David was quite wrong to think he had few friends. He had many, including those who asked for his professional advice, those who benefited from his expertise, and those who, like me, marvelled at the way he gave freely and generously of his time, asking for no reward – the rarest gift of true friendship. A loner, perhaps: friendless, certainly not. David Hurd's sensitive portrait shows the dual personality of its subject, the convivial smile suggesting a man at ease with the world, the direct gaze a man eternally searching for the meaning of things. Maybe that is how David Heppell would have liked to be remembered.

Scientific Papers