Town Geology

by Charles Kingsley

Of another new world, in which the chalk has been lifted up again, to form gradually, doubtless, and at different points in succession, the shore of a sea.

But what proof is there of this?

The surface of the chalk is not flat and smooth, as it must have been when at the bottom of the sea. It is eaten out into holes and furrows, plainly by the gnawing of the waves; and on it lie, in many places, large rolled flints out of chalk which has been destroyed, beds of shore-shingle, beds of oysters lying as they grew, fresh or brackish water-shells standing as they lived, bits of lignite (fossil wood half turned to coal), and (as in Katesgrove pits at Reading) leaves of trees. Proof enough, one would say, that the chalk had been raised till part of it at least became dry land, and carried vegetation.

And yet we have not done. There is another world to tell of yet.

For these beds (known as the Woolwich and Reading beds) dip under that vast bed of London clay, four hundred and more feet thick, which (as I said in my last chapter) was certainly laid down by the estuary of some great tropic river, among palm-trees and Anonas, crocodiles and turtles.

Is the reader’s power of belief exhausted?

If not: there are to be seen, capping almost every high land round London, the remains of a fifth world. Some of my readers may have been to Ascot races, or to Aldershot camp, and may recollect the table-land of the sandy moors, perfectly flat atop, dreary enough to those to whom they are not (as they have long been to me) a home and a work-field. Those sands are several hundred feet thick. They lie on the London clay. And they represent—the reader must take geologists’ word for it—a series of beds in some places thousands of feet thick, in the Isle of Wight, in the Paris basin, in the volcanic country of the Auvergne, in Switzerland, in Italy; a period during which the land must at first have swarmed with forms of tropic life, and then grown—but very gradually—more temperate, and then colder and colder still; till at last set in that age of ice, which spread the boulder pebbles over all rocks and soils indiscriminately, from the Lake mountains to within a few miles of London.

For everywhere about those Ascot moors, the top of the sands has been ploughed by shore-ice in winter, as they lay a-wash in the shallow sea; and over them, in many places, is spread a thin sheet of ice gravel, more ancient, the best geologists think, than the boulder and the boulder-clay.

If any of my readers ask how long the period was during which those sands of Ascot Heath and Aldershot have been laid down, I cannot tell. But this we can tell. It was long enough to see such changes in land and sea, that maps representing Europe during the greater part of that period (as far as we can guess at it) look no more like Europe than like America or the South Sea Islands. And this we can tell besides: that that period was long enough for the Swiss Alps to be lifted up at least 10,000 feet of their present height. And that was a work which—though God could, if He willed it, have done it in a single day—we have proof positive was not done in less than ages, beside which the mortal life of man is as the life of the gnat which dances in the sun.

And all this, and more—as may be proved from the geology of foreign countries—happened between the date of the boulder-clay, and that of the New Red sandstone on which it rests.