Who can you trust in a crisis?

Observation, prediction, and trust: Frank Perret on Montserrat, 1934-38

Frank Perret was an electrical engineer by training, and spent the early part of his working life building things like electric motors, dynamos, and even lifts. In 1906 he sold his firm to the Otis Elevator Company, and began working at the Vesuvius Volcano Observatory - just in time for the major eruption of April 1906.

‘The people are to be trusted…’

That experience ignited a passion for all things volcanic, and he would spend time on the crater rims of some of the most famous and active volcanoes in the world. He became an accomplished volcanologist, but he was always concerned with the relationship between volcanism and society. He was, perhaps, an early ‘social volcanologist’. 

Perret’s attitudes towards local populations - viewing them as sources of reliable knowledge, rather than simply being in need of education - was at odds with many of his fellow scientists, then and even now. Looking back on his career in volcanology in 1950, Perret wrote that ‘everywhere, I have found the populations intelligent and avid for knowledge. The people are to be trusted.’ 

During the 1933-38 seismic crisis on Montserrat, which saw regular powerful earthquakes and speculation that they might signal an imminent volcanic eruption, these principles were put to the test. Local testimony about the existence of a volcanic crater on the island was eventually accepted by the scientific establishment in London, and arguments over the reliability of the claims coming from Montserrat are one of the reasons the Royal Society expedition took rather a while to get going. But in London’s corridors of power, uncertainty reigned as well over whether Frank Perret himself was to be trusted as a volcanological observer. 

Could Frank be trusted?

Frank’s unusual journey into volcanology meant that he didn’t have the usual markers of scientific credibility - degrees in the subject, a university post, reams of publications. He was seen by some as a bit of an ‘amateur’ or, perhaps worse, an ‘enthusiast’, prone to exaggeration and over-excitement. Amid the uncertainty of any volcanic crisis, trust in scientific observers and their advice (e.g. on questions about whether an evacuation might be necessary) is a crucial component of decision-making. During the 1930s, not everyone trusted Frank Perret.

Prediction can be a fraught business. During the early days of the Montserrat crisis, long before the Royal Society expedition arrived, Perret paid close attention to the timing of earthquakes and tremors, with the idea that they might reveal patterns linked to things like the phases of the moon. On his first, brief visit to the island, he told officials that conditions were “disquieting, but not necessarily alarming. They require watching”[1]. He warned that on the night after his departure, with a new moon, an uptick in earthquake activity might be observed. Sure enough the island experienced the “most severe shock experienced [in] thirty odd years”, as reported in a breathless telegram to the press[2]. This gave extra credence to his suggestion that a period in two weeks’ time might also see increased activity caused by astronomical movements. 

This was hardly a prediction of calamity - Perret simply wanted to be informed if the pattern continued - but calamity is what others started to expect. The colonial administration invited a Royal Navy warship to take up position in the harbour, to assist with relief efforts and to quell any “disorder” that might arise[3]. But the authorities also sought a second opinion from Kew Observatory in London, who obliged with reassuring readings of the data and scepticism about any links between the behaviour of the Earth’s crust and celestial bodies. The reassurances were passed onto the population via government notices and church pulpits.  

HMS Danae in August 1934, the kind of ship Perret and Royal Society scientists would've travelled on to Montserrat. Source: Wikimedia commons.

The Captain of the ship in question wasn’t impressed either - he had a five-month tour of the Pacific to prepare for, and coming to Montserrat would mean missing his delivery of beef and potatoes. His derision of the “voodoo prophecy of the wandering astrologer” [4] was reflected in this later evaluation from the Admiralty in London:

The “volcanologist” Dr. Perret whose activities and prophecies have done so much to keep the island in a state of anxiety, has now fortunately returned to Martinique. It is understood that his recent visits have been at the request of the authorities but it is sincerely to be hoped he is not asked to come again. It is difficult to see what good his presence or prognostications achieve.

Note the scare-quotes around ‘volcanologist’ - could he even be called one, they seem to ask,  given his apparent track record of specious prediction? Predictions can make or break scientific reputations, and build or shatter trust. But Perret had hardly made a prediction, only a plea for more attentive observation of the volcano during a period in which increased activity might be possible. 

Reputation restored

Nonetheless, Perret succeeded in rebuilding his reputation in Montserrat, even if he was viewed with some scepticism in London. While officials in Montserrat had worried about the wisdom of employing a “foreign expert”, Perret was the closest at hand, and would have to do. As something of a scientific outsider, Perret was adept at building networks of support, patronage and influence, and his self-sacrificing methods of observing a degassing volcano at close quarters endeared him to the authorities and the population. Turning up to receptions at Government House with his eyes shielded behind protective goggles after being thoroughly gassed on the mountainside no doubt enhanced his public image as a deeply committed, selfless pursuer of a science with, as he saw it, a fundamentally humanitarian mission. By the end of the crisis, Perret was viewed as something of a hero.

The calamity wouldn’t arise until six decades later, but if it had come in the 1930s, Perret’s new friend Archie MacGregor, of the Royal Society expedition, acknowledged that Frank would no doubt have seen it coming. 

References: 

1. Perret to Colonial Sec, Antigua, 14th May 1934. MPL 82/158-175
2. Pacific Cable Boar telegram to CANAPRESS (unknown author), 14th May 1934, MPL  82/158-175
3. Telegram, Governor to Secretary of State, 15th May 1934, MPL 82/158-175
4. Captain, HMS Danae, to Baynes, 23rd May 1934, MPL 82/158-175