Quinine, Quarrels, and Quiet Dignity: The Life of Botanist David Prain

July 11, 1857

On this day in the quaint Scottish village of Fettercairn, a certain David Prain drew his first breath—a seemingly unremarkable event that would, in time, prove to be anything but.

One might almost laugh at the notion that this provincial infant would one day command the botanical kingdoms of both Calcutta and Kew, yet such is the delicious unpredictability of life's grand garden.

Our ambitious Mr. Prain found himself dispatched to Calcutta in 1887, charged with the not inconsiderable task of curating the herbarium. There he developed what one might call a professional obsession with Indian hemp—though I assure you, dear reader, his interest was purely scientific! He subsequently turned his botanical eye to wheat, mustard, pulses, and indigo for the Bengal government, doubtless causing many a local farmer to quake at the approach of his discerning gaze.

It was with Cinchona plantations, however, that Prain truly distinguished himself. The bark of these magnificent trees—containing quinine, that miraculous remedy for malaria—became his particular passion.

One must acknowledge the brilliance of his scheme to distribute quinine to every village in India through local post offices. His obituary rather modestly states this innovation "saved unnumbered lives."

Indeed!

One imagines the malaria-bearing mosquitoes of India regarded him as their most formidable adversary.

During his reign at Kew (for what else should one call the directorship of such a magnificent domain?), Prain established the medicinal garden at Cambridge Cottage—presumably to ensure genteel visitors might swoon and recover in the same vicinity. He also procured the Japanese gateway from the 1910 Japan-British exhibition, apparently believing one can never have too many exotic entrances. Perhaps most significantly for botanists with literary inclinations, he reinstated the Kew Bulletin, giving plant enthusiasts something to discuss over their morning tea.

Yet Prain's greatest challenge came not from stubborn soil or reluctant seedlings, but from a man named William Purdom—a sub-foreman at Kew with an inconvenient passion for fair treatment of garden staff.

How utterly vexing for an administrator!

The discord blossomed when certain gardeners discovered their positions were merely temporary—a revelation made all the more bitter by wages that would make even the most dedicated plant enthusiast consider alternative employment. Though these arrangements predated Prain's appointment, it fell to him to prune back the growing dissatisfaction.

Having risen from humble origins himself, Prain apparently possessed that rare quality among directors: empathy. He made genuine efforts to improve conditions, yet Purdom insisted on making the matter personal—how terribly gauche! Eventually, Prain presented an ultimatum: either he or Purdom must be transplanted elsewhere.

In what might be described as a masterstroke of administrative gardening, Prain arranged for Purdom to join an expedition to China organized by Harry Veitch and the Arnold Arboretum.

One imagines Purdom's surprise at finding himself suddenly bound for distant shores rather than the unemployment office!

History now regards Prain with admiration for recognizing talent even in those with whom he disagreed—rather like a gardener who values a thorny rose for its eventual bloom.

His legacy stands as testimony that one can navigate professional disagreements with both fairness and integrity, qualities as rare in administration as a perfect specimen is in nature.