It might interest you to know this shop has been patronised by the learned and nobility from all parts of the kingdom and beyond. Oh, yes, I’ve entertained the King of Saxony in here, folk from France and America. Men of Science, learned people Oh yes. They see the sign outside: “Anning’s Fossil Depot”. They pull up with their carriages blocking the street. “Fetch your master” they say. “I wish to discuss these antediluvian finds.” And I say, “There is no master in this house except for me. I am the Anning that runs this establishment.” And they look at me through their quizzing glasses. And there is a silence. A long silence and they say “But there must be a man. Is there no Mr. Anning? Your husband?” “I have no husband, Sir.” “Your father?” “Dead these long years.” “A brother?” “I do have a brother, Joseph. He does help me from time to time. But he is a chair mender.
“I do have men friends who help me. “ I say “All sorts of friends. Men. And women. And girls. Quarrymen to help cut the big creature out of the cliffs. People who visit. Men and woman that I write to all round the world. People of the town. The congregation at the church. Oh I have plenty of friends. But it is my labour that fills this shop.”
“So you are the famous Mary Anning?” They say full of wonderment. “I had heard rumours of a woman who knows an uncommon amount about such things. May I pinch you to ascertain whether you are real or not?” And I say: “No Sir you may not.” They might be rich and grand but they know less about fossils than my little dog Tray used to. Ah poor Tray! I loved little Tray.
Ah yes. And I tell them: “I have spent all the long hours and days and weeks it takes to prepare the specimens, picking away the stone grain by grain until the poor creature’s bones are revealed to sight. Then they are set in cement on boards. I have to work so carefully. Piecing them together. Piece by tiny piece.
There. Do you see? All the work. And then, what happens? Some gentleman or lady like you comes along and snaps them up like a pleisosaur snapping up a little mollusc and pretends they found it themselves. ” Oh look how clever I am” they say. “Look I found this fossil myself and I dug it out of the cliffs.” They couldn’t do all those hours wading in the mud, sleet and hail beating down, backbreaking toil with pick and shovel and trowel, hefting the heavy rock back here in therir fancy fine clothes and their fine white hands. But noone remembers who did do all the work. And why is that? Because I am from the wrong class and us working folk are looked over as having no greater knowledge or understanding than those gentlefolk’s dogs. And because I am a woman.....