Born in London in 1896, J. R. Ackerley was a distinguished author and editor celebrated for his candid autobiographical writing and his lengthy tenure as the literary editor of the BBC magazine, The Listener. On 22nd December 1952, as millions of households across Britain sharpened their carving knives in preparation for Christmas festivities, a dismayed Ackerley wrote the following entry in his diary and expressed his disgust at the widespread mistreatment of certain animals at this time of year.

The Diary Entry

22nd December 1952

The Movietone News this week had a Christmas feature. A large number of flustered turkeys were driven towards the camera, and the commentator remarked that the Christmas rush was on, or words to that effect. Next they were seen crowded about their feeding trough, making their gobbling turkey fuss, and the commentator observed, with dry humour (again I do not remember his exact words), that it was no use their holding a protest meeting, for they were for it in the morning. Similar facetious jokes followed them wherever they went, hurrying and trampling about in their silly way; for to make them look as silly as possible was no doubt part of the joke and easy to achieve: turkeys, like hens, like all animals, are beautiful in themselves, and have even a kind of dignity when they are leading their own lives, but the fowls, in particular, look foolish when they are being frightened.

These jolly, lip-licking sallies, delivered in the rich, cultivated self-confident voice of one who has no sort of doubt of his own superiority to the animal kingdom, raised no laugh from the considerable audience, I was pleased to note. I took it from the silence that many other people besides myself would have been glad to be spared jeers and jibes at these creatures who, parting unwillingly with their lives, were to afford us pleasure at our Christmas tables. It reminded me of a shop window I noticed in Marylebone High Street, not many weeks ago. A whole calf’s head was displayed upon a dish, and the tongue of the dead thing had been dragged out and twisted round into the side of its mouth so that it appeared, idiotically, to be licking its own lips over the taste of its own dead flesh. In order to make it more foolish still, a tomato had been balanced on top of its head. How arrogant people are in their behaviour to the domestic beasts at least. Indeed, yes, we feed upon them, and enjoy their flesh; but does that permit us to make fun of them before they die or after they are dead? If it were possible, without disordering one’s whole life, to be a vegetarian, I would be one; nothing could have been more disgusting and degrading than the insensitiveness displayed by these two exhibitions I have described.

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Further Reading

My Sister and Myself: The Diaries of J.R. Ackerley, edited by Francis King, was published by Hutchinson in 1983.

Also…

• Hindoo Holiday: An Indian Journal, in which Ackerley spends five months in India
• The website of J. R. Ackerley
• J. R. Ackerley at Wikipedia