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Mental Health and Offending

This book explores the controversial relationship between mental

health and offending and looks at the ways in which offenders with
mental health problems are cared for, coerced and controlled by the
criminal justice and mental health systems. It provides a much-needed
criminological approach to the field of forensic mental health.

Beginning with an exploration into why the relationship between

mental health and offending is so complex, readers will be introduced
to a range of perspectives through which mental health and its rela-
tionship to offending behaviour can be understood. The book con-
siders the politics surrounding mental health and offending, focusing
particularly on the changing policy response to mentally disordered
offenders since the mid-1990s. With dedicated chapters concern-
ing the police, courts, secure services and the community, this book
explores a range of issues including:

• The tensions between the care, coercion and control of mentally

disordered offenders
• The increasingly blurred boundaries between mental health and
criminal justice
• Rights, responsibilities, accountability and blame
• Risk, public protection and precaution
• Challenges involved with treatment, recovery and rehabilitation
• Staffing challenges surrounding multi-agency working
• Funding, privatisation and challenges surrounding service commiss­
ioning
• Methodological challenges in the field.

Providing an accessible and concise overview of the field and its key
perspectives, this book is essential reading for undergraduate and post-
graduate courses in mental health offered by criminology, criminal
justice, sociology, social work, nursing and public policy departments.
It will also be of interest to a wide range of mental health and criminal
justice practitioners.
Dr Julie D. Trebilcock is a Senior Lecturer in Criminology at
Middlesex University. Her research has been primarily concerned
with the management of violent and sexual offenders with person-
ality disorders under the Dangerous and Severe Personality Disorder
(DSPD) ­Programme, and the more recent Offender Personality Dis-
order (OPD) pathway. Her particular expertise is with the institu-
tional pathways and legal authority by which high-risk offenders are
detained, Parole Board and Mental Health Tribunal decision-making,
and the staffing challenges involved with working with offenders with
­personality disorders.

Dr Samantha K. Weston is a Senior Lecturer in Criminology at

Keele University. Much of her research has focused on how risk pre-
vention measures have been applied to vulnerable and marginalised
populations including those who use substances, (potential) victims
and (potential) perpetrators of child sexual exploitation and those
­experiencing mental ill health. This focus has enabled her to explore
in more detail how certain, marginalised and vulnerable popula-
tions and their behaviour are understood, ‘managed’, ‘controlled’ and
responded to.
‘The field of mental disorder and crime is so all-encompassing as to put off
many authors, but not criminologists Trebilcock and Weston. Their Mental
Health and Offending: Care, Coercion and Control makes accessible a wealth of
material. The book deftly takes the reader through the complex intersection
of socio-legal issues pertaining across the criminal justice process as they affect
those with mental disorder. Their analysis alone of the recent political land-
scape makes the book an outstanding contribution’.
— Jill Peay, Professor of Law,The London School of Economics and
Political Science, UK

‘This book provides an authoritative and accessible exploration of some of

the key dilemmas in offender mental health care. Combining academic rigour
and a clear understanding of the issues faced in everyday practice, the authors
address the core theme of care vs. control in a wide range of criminal justice
settings, from initial contact with police, through custody, to rehabilitation in
the community. This book is essential reading for criminal justice students
but is also an invaluable resource for mental health professionals who want to
better understand some of the core dilemmas in this complex field’.
— Dr. Colin Campbell, Consultant Forensic Psychiatrist,
King’s College London and South London and Maudsley NHS
Foundation Trust, UK

‘The relationship between mental health and criminal justice has been the
source of much contemporary penal policy debate. This clear and compre-
hensive book allows the reader to grapple with issues ranging from health
ethics to the care of those with mental disorders in secure settings. It should
be a must read for anyone wanting to understand the complex range of the-
ories, issues and public policy responses to the challenges posed to the seem-
ingly intractable dilemma of how to best serve the needs of those with mental
health needs and to ensure that the needs of justice are met’.
— Anita Dockley, Research Director,The Howard League for
Penal Reform, UK
Mental Health and
Offending
Care, Coercion and Control

Julie D. Trebilcock and Samantha K. Weston

First published 2020
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
and by Routledge
52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2020 Julie D. Trebilcock and Samantha K. Weston
The right of Julie D. Trebilcock and Samantha K. Weston to be
identified as authors of this work has been asserted by them in
accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and
Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or
reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical,
or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including
photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval
system, without permission in writing from the publishers.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks
or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and
explanation without intent to infringe.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
A catalog record has been requested for this book
ISBN: 978-1-138-69792-8 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-1-138-69793-5 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-315-52037-7 (ebk)

Typeset in Bembo
by codeMantra
JDT: For Ben, Dylan and Keira
SKW: For Eden and Oscar
 Contents

List of boxes x
List of tables xi
List of abbreviations xii

1 The controversial relationship between mental health and offending 1

2 Key perspectives surrounding mental health and offending 39

3 Exploring the politics of care, coercion and control 74

4 Mental health, offending and the police 116

5 Mental health, offending and the courts 146

6 Mental health, offending and secure detention 177

7 Mental health, offending and the community 209

8 Care, coercion and control: Exploring the key themes raised

by mental health and offending 242

Index 281

ix
 BOXES

1.1 Common risk assessment tools used in England and Wales 20

3.1 The Christopher Clunis case 80
3.2 The Michael Stone case 81
3.3 Four key areas of the Mental Health Crisis Care Concordat 92
4.1 MS v UK 24527/08 [2012] ECHR 804 120
4.2 s136(1), MHA 1983: Mentally disordered persons found in public places 121
4.3 Main changes to s135 and s136 under the Policing and Crime Act 2017 123
4.4 1972 Maxwell Confait case 128
4.5 Street triage objectives as identified by Reveruzzi and Pilling (2016:14) 132
5.1 Home Office circular 12/95: Responsibilities of the police 149
5.2 Main activities of liaison and diversion (L&D) services 167
8.1 Key partnerships involved in the provision of care to offenders with
mental disorder 253

x
 tables

5.1 Detentions under s37 and s37/41 of the MHA 1983 between
2011/12 and 2015/16 160

xi
 abbreviations

A&E Accident and Emergency

AA Appropriate Adult
AC Approved Clinician
ADHD Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder
AMHP Approved Mental Health Professional
AOT Assertive Outreach Team
AP Approved Premises
ASW Approved Social Worker
ATR Alcohol Treatment Requirement
BAME Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic
CARATS Counselling Assessment and Throughcare Services
CBT Cognitive Behavioural Therapy
CCG Clinical Commissioning Group
CCRC Criminal Cases Review Commission
CDA 1998 Crime and Disorder Act 1998
CIT Crisis Intervention Team
CJA 2003 Criminal Justice Act 2003
CJCSA 2000 Criminal Justice and Courts Services Act 2000
CJS Criminal Justice System
CMHT Community Mental Health Team
CPA Care Programme Approach
CPIA 1964 Criminal Procedures (Insanity) Act 1964
CPN Community Psychiatric Nurse
CPS Crown Prosecution Service
CQC Care Quality Commission
CRC Community Rehabilitation Company
CRHT Crisis Resolution and Home Treatment
CRT Crisis Resolution Team
C(S)A 1997 Crime (Sentences) Act 1997
CSAP Correctional Services Accreditation Panel
CTO Community Treatment Order
CTP Care and Treatment Planning

xii
 a bbre v i ations

DBT Dialectical Behavioural Therapy

DoH Department of Health
DHS Directorate of High Security
DRR Drug Rehabilitation Requirement
DSM-5 Diagnostic and Statistical Manual 5
DSPD Dangerous and Severe Personality Disorder
DVCVA 2004 Domestic Violence, Crime and Victims Act 2004
ECHR European Convention on Human Rights
ECtHR European Court of Human Rights
FME Forensic Medical Examiner
GLM Good Lives Model
GMC General Medical Council
GP General Practitioner
IAPT Improving Access to Psychological Therapies
ICD-11 International Classification of Diseases 11
IOPC Independent Office for Police Conduct
IPCC Independent Police Complaints Commission
IPDE International Personality Disorder Examination
IPP Imprisonment for Public Protection
IRC Immigration Removal Centre
HBPOS Health-based place of safety
HCP Health Care Professional
HCR-20 Historical – Clinical – Risk 20
HO Home Office
HM Her Majesty’s
HMIC Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary
HMICFRS Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary and Fire & Rescue
Services
HMIP Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Prisons
HMIP Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Probation
HMPPS Her Majesty’s Prison and Probation Service
L&D Liaison and Diversion
LASPO 2012 Legal Aid, Sentencing and Punishment of Offenders Act 2012
LHB Local Health Board
MAPPA Multi-Agency Public Protection Arrangements
MAPPP Multi-Agency Public Protection Panel
MHA Mental Health Act
MHAC Mental Health Act Commission
MHIT Mental Health In-Reach Team
MHRT Mental Health Review Tribunal
MHTR Mental Health Treatment Requirement
MOJ Ministry of Justice

xiii
a bbre v i ations

MSU Medium Secure Unit

NAAN National Appropriate Adult Network
NCISH National Confidential Inquiry into Suicide and Safety in Mental
Health
NHS National Health Service
NHSE National Health Service England
NICE National Institute for Health and Care Excellence
NIMH National Institute of Mental Health
NIMHE National Institute for Mental Health in England
NMHDU National Mental Health Development Unit
NOMS National Offender Management Service
NPCC National Police Chiefs’ Council
NPIA National Policing Improvement Agency
NPS National Probation Service
OASys Offender Assessment System
OCD Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder
OGRS Offender Group Reconviction Scale
OPD Offender Personality Disorder
ORA 2014 Offender Rehabilitation Act 2014
PACE 1984 Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984
PB Parole Board
PbR Payment by Results
PCA 2017 Policing and Crime Act 2017
PCC Police and Crime Commissioner
PCL-R Psychopathy Checklist – Revised
PD Personality Disorder
PHE Public Health England
PICU Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit
PIPE Psychologically Informed Planned Environment
PSO Prison Service Order
PTSD Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
RAR Rehabilitation Activity Requirement
RC Responsible Clinician
RM2000 Risk Matrix 2000
RMA Risk Management Authority
RMO Responsible Medical Officer
RNR Risk Need Responsivity
ROTL Release on Temporary License
RSHO Risk of Sexual Harm Orders
RSU Regional Secure Unit
SARN Structured Assessment of Risk and Need
SOPO Sex Offender Prevention Order
SOSO Sex Offender Supervision Order

xiv
 a bbre v i ations

SOTP Sex Offender Treatment Programme

TC Therapeutic Community
VRS Violence Risk Scale
VRAG Violence Risk Appraisal Guide
YOT Youth Offending Team

xv
 CHAPTER 1

The controversial
relationship between
mental health and
offending
Introduction

Despite having a one in ten million chance of being killed by a

stranger with schizophrenia (about the same chance of being hit by
lightening) (Szmulker, 2000), we live in a society that appears to be
preoccupied by the dangerousness of those with mental health prob-
lems. The stigma surrounding mental disorder can be acute and one
reason for this is that mental disorder and crime, particularly violent
crime, are often thought to be closely linked. While this may some-
times be true, the links are often overstated by the media, with aca-
demic research suggesting that people with mental health problems
do not pose the level of risk that some assume. Moreover, people
with mental disorder are consistently shown to be more at risk of
violence from others (Brekke et al., 2001). However, the relationship
between mental disorder and violence is an ‘ideologically charged
issue’ (Markowitz, 2011:39) and despite common agreement that the
violence committed by those with mental disorder is low, punitive

1
The controv er si a l rel ationship

and risk-orientated policies that unfairly target those with mental

illness often prevail (see Chapter 3).
We begin this chapter by discussing the challenges involved with
defining what we mean by key concepts like ‘mental disorder’, ‘men-
tal illness’ and ‘mentally disordered offenders’. The chapter introduces
readers to clinical definitions of mental disorder, as defined by diag-
nostic classification systems like the American Psychiatric Association’s
(APA) Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, fifth edition
(DSM-5; APA, 2013) and the World Health Organization’s (WHO)
International Classification of Diseases, 11th edition (ICD-11; WHO,
2018), along with the legal framework under the Mental Health Act
(MHA) 1983 (as amended by the MHA 2007) in England and Wales.
After considering a range of definitional issues we turn our attention
towards the relationship between mental health and offending. This
is followed by a discussion of the challenges involved with assessing
the risk posed by mentally disordered offenders and consideration of
some of the key methodological limitations in the field of forensic
mental health. The chapter concludes by discussing the implications
of these issues for policy and practice.

Mental disorder, mental illness and mentally

disordered offenders

Below we briefly consider some of the main ways in which mental

disorders are defined. Reflecting the lack of consensus about key con-
cepts in the mental health field (Winstone, 2016), this discussion is split
into ‘clinical’, ‘legal’ and ‘social/political’ definitions of m
­ ental disor-
der. Indeed, the lead editor of the DSM-4, Allen Frances, is quoted as
having said: ‘[t]here is no definition of a mental disorder. It’s bullshit. I
mean, you just can’t define it’ (Walvisch, 2017:7). The limited agree-
ment about key concepts in forensic mental health generates many
challenges, since a range of different actors must make important deci-
sions on the basis of these concepts. While differences in terminology
and understanding are most evident between those with different pro-
fessional backgrounds and training, the very nature of mental disorder
means that even similar experts will contest meanings.
‘Mental disorder’ is a common and broad term that usually refers to a
very wide range of mental health problems. It is also our preferred term
throughout the book, in part because key disorders that we discuss, such
as ‘personality disorder’ are captured by this term, but not by ‘mental
illness’. ‘Mental illness’ is a more specific term that tends to focus on
those mental disorders that can be thought of in terms of an illness,

2
 The controv er si a l rel ationship

such as schizophrenia. According to the National Institute for Health

and Care Excellence (NICE) (2011), depression, anxiety disorders,
obsessive-compulsive disorders (OCD) and post-traumatic stress disor-
der (PTSD) are the most common mental health problems in the UK,
affecting up to 15% of the population at any one time. However, lifetime
prevalence of mental disorder will be much higher, with one US study
estimating that 50% of the population will experience a mental disorder
by their 75th birthday (Kessler et al., 2005). In the UK, the largest single
cause of disabilities is reported to be mental ill health, with a cost of
£105 billion a year to the economy (Mental Health Taskforce, 2016). In
addition to the high economic cost, mental disorders such as depression
can be lifelong conditions with periods of relapse and remission, and are
associated with higher mortality rates (NICE, 2011). This reminds us of
the close links between mental and physical health, and that people with
long-term and severe mental illness die on average 15–20 years earlier
than people without (Mental Health Taskforce, 2016).
In line with common parlance, official documents (such as those
authored by the Ministry of Justice and Department of Health) and
other academics in the field, we commonly use phrases such as ‘men-
tally disordered offenders’ or ‘offenders with mental disorder’ through-
out the book to refer to people who have a mental health problem and
have also come into contact with the criminal justice system.While this
should mean the terminology we use is familiar to those working and
studying in the field, it is important to acknowledge there are many
problems with these phrases (see Peay (2017) for a discussion). One
obvious problem follows from the lack of consensus about what mental
disorders are or what we mean by ‘offenders’, a discussion we come to
below. Phrases such as ‘mentally disordered offenders’ are problematic
because they reduce people to their worst behaviour as offenders, and it
is essential to recognise ‘first and above all – offenders are human beings’
(Vandevelde et al., 2017:72). Peay (2017:641) also argues against treating
offenders with mental health problems as an isolated category, not least
because this would presuppose the existence of another group of ‘men-
tally ordered offenders’ and ‘such a clear-cut division is problematic’.

Clinical classifications of mental disorder

One of the most established classification tools used to diagnose men-

tal disorders is the DSM-5, with the most recent edition published in
2013. First published in 1952 by the APA, it has been described as ‘one
of the most influential and controversial terminological standards ever
produced’ (Pickersgill, 2012:544).1 Another well-known classification

3
The controv er si a l rel ationship

system, available in 43 languages and used by more than 100 coun-

tries across the globe, is the WHO’s ICD-11. The latest and 11th revi-
sion of the ICD was released in June 2018,2 although the WHO has
been responsible for the ICD since 1948 following publication of the
­ICD-6.3 In contrast to the DSM-5, the ICD-11 covers all diseases,
disorders and related health problems, with only one part relating to
behavioural and mental disorders.
The development of these classification tools is closely linked to
the growth of psychiatry (and other ‘psy’ disciplines such as psychol-
ogy and psychoanalysis) and the ‘systematic control’ of mental dis-
order that began in the nineteenth century (Rogers and Pilgrim,
2014). An extended critique about these clinical classification sys-
tems, and the medical model on which they are based, is provided in
­Chapter 2. However, it is worth noting here, that mental disorders are
often extremely difficult to define, and our understandings of mental
disorder are culturally and historically specific. Duggan (2008:505)
argues that questioning the ‘very existence’ of a disorder is common
within the mental health field, in a way that it is not in other more
traditional areas of medicine. Most mental disorders do not have a
clear and specific aetiology (in the way that other medical prob-
lems do) and most mental health problems can only be diagnosed by
self-­reported behaviours and clinical observation (rather than specific
tests like those found in general medicine) (Anckarsäter et al., 2009).

Legal definitions and framework

The main legislation that governs the detention and community man-
agement of people with mental disorder in England and Wales4 is
the MHA 1983 (as amended by the MHA 2007), although offenders
with mental health problems may also be governed by other legisla-
tion including the Mental Capacity Act 2005, the Criminal Procedure
(Insanity) Act 1964 (as amended by the Criminal Procedure (Insanity
and Unfitness to Plead) Act 1991 and the Domestic Violence, Crime
and Victims Act 2004).While we explore the MHA 1983 (as amended
by the MHA 2007) throughout the book, a full discussion of these
other legislative powers is beyond the scope of this text and readers
are directed to Beswick and Gunn (2017) and Bartlett and Sandland
(2014) for further information.
At this early stage it is important to highlight how powerful men-
tal health law is. Pilgrim and Ramon (2009:274) help illuminate this
point when they note that ‘the power to constrain, without trial, those
posing a putative future risk is only found in mental health services

4
 The controv er si a l rel ationship

and in statutes to pre-empt terrorism’. Similarly, Simon Wessely, chair

of the recent independent review of the MHA in England and Wales,
along with his colleagues, reminds us that

The MHA confers powers on the state that do not exist across the
rest of health care. These powers are usually exercised when people
are at their most vulnerable. Where people are anxious, quite rea-
sonably, that their rights and personal dignity may suffer through
the use of those powers, the state is under a heavy obligation both to
ensure that they are no greater than necessary and to oversee and regulate
their use.
(Department of Health and Social Care,
2018b:5, our emphasis)

Following an independent review of the MHA 1983, which con-

cluded in December 2018, reform of mental health law in England
and Wales is now anticipated (Department of Health and Social Care,
2018a). Prior to this, the last substantial changes to the MHA in
­England and Wales were made by the MHA 2007, which amended
(rather than replaced) the earlier MHA 1983. During the process of
review Peay (2002:747) observed that mental health policy in ­England
and Wales was ‘permeated by perceptions and attributes of risk’ rather
than humanitarian concerns. Controversially, the MHA 2007 did away
with previous categories of mental disorder that were set out under
the MHA 1983, in favour of a single definition of mental disorder,
defined as ‘any disorder or disability of the mind’ (s1(2), MHA 2007).
In practice, those detained under the legislation have a variety of
mental disorders including: schizophrenia, depression and/or bipolar
disorder, personality disorders, eating disorders and autistic spectrum
disorders. Those with learning disabilities can be detained under the
Act but only if their disability is associated with ‘abnormally aggressive
or seriously irresponsible conduct’ (s2, MHA 2007). While both the
DSM-5 and ICD-11 include substance use disorders, dependence on
drugs and alcohol is excluded from the definition of mental disorder
under the MHA 2007. Promiscuity and sexual orientation are also
excluded; however, changes to the MHA 2007 mean that deviant sex-
ual conduct no longer is (see Harrison (2011) for a brief discussion).
Part Two of the MHA 1983 sets out the main provisions for com-
pulsory admission to hospital under the Act for ‘civil’ patients, that is,
people not involved with criminal proceedings (i.e. non-offenders).
It is important to remember that only a small minority of people
with mental health problems are actually detained in hospital for treat-
ment, with approximately 5.6% of adults in contact of mental health

5
The controv er si a l rel ationship

or learning disability services admitted to hospital during 2015/16

(National Health Service (NHS) Digital, 2016b). Individuals can be
admitted for 28 days for assessment under section 2 of the Act, initially
for six months for treatment under section 3 or for up to 72 hours in
an emergency under section 4. Because people are detained in hos-
pital under different sections of the MHA you may sometimes hear
colloquial references to ‘sectioning’ or someone being ‘sectioned’.
Those involved with criminal proceedings are dealt with under
Part Three of the MHA 1983. Cummins (2016:49) reminds us that the
‘most important differences between these and civil powers are that
they follow on from conviction and form part of a criminal record’.
There are many provisions under the Act that allow for detention in
hospital and diversion away from the criminal justice system, and these
are described in more detail throughout the book. Chapter 4 outlines
the key powers available to the police to take people with suspected
mental health problems to a ‘place of safety’, before Chapter 5 sets out
some of the ways mental disorder may impact on court proceedings
and the sentencing options available to the court. Chapter 6 consid-
ers the legal framework for the transfer of prisoners to secure mental
health facilities, while Chapter 7 outlines the legal mechanisms by
which mentally disordered offenders may be discharged to the com-
munity and then subject to supervision and monitoring.
The MHA 2007 was a controversial piece of legislation and one
that took ten years from conception (Department of Health, 1998)
to implementation (November 2008). We discuss the key reforms and
controversies in Chapter 3, along with its current review, but it is worth
noting here that since the MHA 2007 was implemented, detentions
under mental health legislation have risen considerably. In 2015/16,
63,622 detentions under the MHA were recorded, a rise of 9% from
the previous year and a staggering 47% rise in the ten years from 2005/6
(n=43,361) (NHS Digital, 2016a). Substantial changes have been made
to the way mental health data are collated and analysed so the anal-
ysis of more recent trends is difficult to make. However, NHS Digi-
tal (2018) indicates that detentions under mental health legislation are
continuing to rise, with an estimated increase of 2.4% in 2017–2018.

Social and political understandings of mental

disorder

Because diagnoses of mental disorder change over time, some argue

that they are little more than moral judgements (Blackburn, 1998).
A good illustration of this is the case of homosexuality. Until 1973

6
 The controv er si a l rel ationship

homosexuality was listed as a mental disorder in the DSM, and it was

not until the Sexual Offences Act 1967 that homosexual acts (in pri-
vate and between adults aged 21 and above) were decriminalised in
England and Wales. This highlights how particular types of behaviour
can be criminalised and medicalised in different historical periods.
This point is further illustrated by recent calls to include homophobia
within diagnostic tools such as the DSM (Harrington, 2015).
Other more recent examples of what might be termed ‘social’ or
‘political’ definitions of mental disorder can also be found. In C
­ hapter 3
we will learn more about the ‘Dangerous and Severe Personality Dis-
order’ (DSPD) programme, a political initiative designed to quell
public anxieties about the perceived dangerousness and ‘untreatability’
of those with severe personality disorder. Controversially, when the
reforms were first introduced, professionals were at a loss as to where
the term of DSPD had come from, complaining that it was a political
term that did not correspond to existing clinical or legal categories of
understanding (Eastman, 2002; Farnham and James, 2001).

Media and public attitudes towards mental

disorder

While Mullins (2014) argues that some progress has been made regard-
ing the media’s presentation of mental disorder, especially among
broadsheet newspapers, it is well established that the media’s portrayal
of people with mental health problems tends to be negative. The
media appear to be particularly fascinated with the violence and mur-
der committed by those with mental health problems (Busfield, 2002)
and commonly depict those with mental health problems as violent
(Cummins, 2011). Newspapers tend to focus on negative events, such
as murders by those known to psychiatric services, while films and
TV dramas continue to use ‘mental illness as an excuse for depicting
violence and horrific crimes’ (Anderson, 2003:304). In a review, Shift
(2010) found that in 45% of TV programmes with storylines involving
mental illness, the characters with mental health problems were por-
trayed as dangerous.
Cummins (2016:49) argues that the high level of media interest
in mentally disordered offenders follows from the common belief
that they have ‘escaped punishment’. Another reason for the media’s
apparent fascination, along with the public’s apparent happiness to
consume, is that many high-profile murders committed by those with
mental disorder involve ‘double unpredictability: not only is the death
unpredictable, but so too is the killer’ (Busfield, 2002:69). Importantly,

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these observations highlight that mentally disordered offenders are

often framed in contradictory ways by the media, simultaneously pre-
sented as both rational and irrational (Cross, 2014; Olstead, 2002).
While the media can influence public opinion, ‘people are not sim-
ply blank slates on which its messages are written’ (Philo, 1996:103). It
is therefore difficult to establish what the public know or understand
about mental disorder, or the impact that media reporting may have
on their views. However, public attitudes are generally thought to
be negative, and those with mental disorder are commonly viewed
as dangerous and unpredictable (Morrall, 2000). While the public’s
understanding of mental illness is thought to have broadened in the
second half of the twentieth century, the perception that people with
mental illness are violent and dangerous is thought to have substan-
tially increased (Markowitz, 2011; Phelan et al., 2000). A considerable
stigma surrounding mental illness continues to prevail and this has
important implications for those who are unwell, especially if they are
also in contact with the criminal justice system.
While it is difficult to establish the impact that media reporting
has on public attitudes, one reason it is thought to be dangerous fol-
lows from its tendency to frame an issue in very black and white
terms ‘which sees perpetrators and victims as inhabiting entirely dif-
ferent worlds’ (Mullen, 2002a:xiv). This process ignores the fact that
mentally disordered offenders are highly likely to also be victims and
that people with mental disorder experience more victimisation than
those without. This also highlights the media’s power to generate
and ‘champion’ issues for political attention, validate existing ones,
and popularise fears of particular ‘others’ or issues (Kemshall, 2008).
Sadly, the media often fails to raise important issues for mental health
professionals or highlight when things in mental health services are
working well.
While the impact of both media and public concerns about those
with mental disorder is difficult to establish, political responses to
those with mental disorder often appear to be structured by anx-
ieties about public protection (see Chapter 3). Some social pol-
icy responses (such as homicide inquiries where the perpetrator is
known to mental health services) help generate problematic associ-
ations between mental disorder and dangerousness.Yet paradoxically,
political reactions to quell public and media concerns may distract
policy-makers and direct resources at the wrong targets (Kitzinger,
2004). On the ground, this may lead to more restrictive approaches
which can generate unforeseen risks because of the subsequent dif-
ficulties involved with aftercare and resettlement (Carroll, Lyall and
Forrester, 2004).

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The relationship between mental disorder

and offending

Concepts such as mental disorder and offending become even more

troublesome when we try to consider their relationship to one
another. But, as Harris (1999) reminds us, we have little choice but
to explore the relationship between ‘offenders’ and ‘mental disorder’
because the law requires the defence to demonstrate a causal link
between the crime and a defendant’s mental disorder if the insanity
defence or diminished responsibility are to be used in court. Mentally
disordered offenders (as well as those with mental health problems
who have not offended) are often subject to a range of restrictive
measures. Given that many of these may be justified on the basis of
their potential for dangerousness, we also have an ethical obligation
to interrogate the relationship between their mental health and pro-
pensity to offend.
While many uncertainties continue to characterise the field,
­Duggan (2008) notes that there has been something of a radical shift
in thinking over the last 40 years, with academic psychiatry having
moved from a firmly held view that crime and mental disorder are
not linked, to a consensus that the opposite may be true. Some areas of
consensus have now emerged and many now claim there is ‘undoubt-
edly a link’ between mental disorder and offending (Holloway and
Davies, 2017:307; see also Peay, 2011), with severe mental illness cor-
relating with an increased risk of behaving violently (Hodgins, 2008).
However, psychiatrists warn that we should not ‘exaggerate the sig-
nificance of this link’ (Duggan, 2008:507) since mental disorder is
likely to make a ‘trivial contribution’ to levels of violence ­(Monahan,
2007:144). This is because the relationship appears to be ‘modest’
­(Pilgrim and Rogers, 2003) and there are a number of methodological
challenges with trying to understand the relationship between mental
disorder and offending.
One key problem involved with making sense of the vast liter-
ature available is that the majority of research studies tend to focus
on only one type of disorder (e.g. schizophrenia or personality dis-
order) and one type of offence (e.g. murder) or type of offending
(e.g. violent crime) (Vinkers et al., 2011). There is a wide variation in
study findings about the link between mental disorder and offending
and this reflects the range of different diagnoses, definitions of crime/
violence and methodologies used (ranging from self-report to con-
viction data) (Hodgins, 2008). The use of treatment samples, which
may include disproportionate numbers of patients ‘inclined towards
disruptive behaviour’ (Markowitz, 2011:39), also represents a common

9
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limitation across studies. While it is clear that offenders have a high

prevalence of mental disorder, one fundamental challenge is that the
mental health problems experienced by these offenders may have lit-
tle to do with their offending behaviour. While correlations between
mental disorder and offending certainly exist, associations between
mental disorder and offending do not explain the nature of the rela-
tionship (Vinkers et al., 2011) and ‘any causal basis for the association
between mental illness and offending has yet to be established’ (Peay,
2009:491). Moreover, the precise nature of the relationship is not only
unclear; it is impossible to define (Peay, 2011).
Notwithstanding these challenges, in the pages that follow we
attempt to outline some of the key areas of consensus. We pay specific
attention to the academic literature surrounding schizophrenia and
personality disorder and also consider the role that drug and alcohol
use may play along with other key criminogenic factors. We also con-
sider the levels of victimisation experienced by people with mental
disorder revealing that contrary to popular anxieties they are, in fact,
far more at risk from ‘us’ than we are from ‘them’.

Types of offending by those with mental disorder

Hiday (1999) hypothesises that mentally disordered offenders most

often fall into one of three groups. The first group is involved with
minor survival crimes or misdemeanours, such as shoplifting and loi-
tering. The second group are those who, in addition to severe mental
health problems, also have substance misuse issues which may increase
their involvement with the criminal justice system. The final group
is the smallest group and the one most commonly assumed by ste-
reotypical presentations of those with mental disorder. This group
is comprised of a small number of very ill people who also engage
with violent and dangerous behaviour as a result of their delusion-
ary behaviour. What is particularly revealing is that ‘all three of these
groups tend to live in impoverished communities and within social
environments that have substantially deteriorated in the last twentieth
century’ (Hiday, 1999:525).
Serious violence committed by the mentally ill is usually commit-
ted in very similar ways as that committed by those without mental
illness and is most commonly directed towards family members or
people close to them, rather than strangers (National Confidential
Inquiry into Suicide and Safety in Mental Health (NCISH), 2018;
Pilgrim and Rogers, 2003). Given that people with mental health
problems tend to offend in the same ways that people without mental

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health problems do, it is very difficult to establish what role, if any,

the mental disorder may have played in their offence (Canton, 2016).
This reminds us that mentally disordered offenders are a heteroge-
neous population and just as ‘crime amongst the ordered is diverse,
opportunistic and diverse … so it is amongst the mentally disordered’
(Peay, 2011:97).

Schizophrenia and links to violent offending

There has long been a lack of empirical evidence to link mental

illness and violence (Pilgrim and Rogers, 2003). However, this began
to change in the 1990s with a number of well-designed studies. For
example, in a community-based study, Swanson et al. (1990) found
that patients with psychosis alone were more likely to be violent.
Additionally, those who had psychosis and comorbid problems with
alcohol or drugs were significantly more likely to be violent. Research
conducted by Steadman et al. (1998) almost a decade later, found
that patients with psychosis alone were not more likely to be violent
(Steadman et al., 1998). However, in support of the earlier study by
Swanson et al. (1990), violence was found to more likely among those
with mental illness and substance misuse issues (Monahan et al., 2001).
A later study by Swanson and colleagues (2006) involving community-
based patients with schizophrenia, found that 19% reported having
behaved violently in the last six months, a far higher level than would
be expected within the wider community.
Studies such as these have overturned a long-held belief that there
is no relationship between schizophrenia and violent offending.
Rather, a consensus that those with schizophrenia are more likely
to be violent than those without is now more common (Hodgins,
2008; McMurran, Khalifa and Gibbon, 2009). In a review, Hodgins
(2008:400) notes that this is a robust finding that has been confirmed
in a number of different countries, using a variety of methods and
sampling strategies. The studies reviewed by Hodgins (2008) confirm
four further points.The first is that while severe mental illness appears
to increase the risk of violence at a similar level across different stud-
ies, the proportion of people with severe mental illness who commit
violent offences is different in different time periods and countries.
Second, the proportion of offenders with mental illness also differs in
different locations and time periods.Third, serious mental illness leads
to a higher risk of violence in women, even though many more men
with severe mental illness commit violent crime. And finally, only
small numbers of people with severe mental illness have murdered

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someone. However, a significant minority of people with mental

illnesses such as schizophrenia do present with persistently aggressive
behaviour (Hodgins, 2008).
A consensus now generally exists that patients with ­schizophrenia
who do not take their medication (Fazel et al., 2009), especially those
experiencing delusions (Taylor and Estroff, 2003) or other positive
symptoms (Hodgins, Hiscoke and Freese, 2003) along with those
misusing substances (Fazel et al., 2009), are more likely to behave
violently. However, the majority of people with schizophrenia are
not violent and most do not abuse alcohol and drugs (Pilgrim and
Rogers, 2003). Moreover, some research has found that people with
schizophrenia may actually be less likely to offend because they are
more socially withdrawn and consequently have less potential con-
tact with victims (Markowitz, 2011; Pilgrim and Rogers, 2003). We
should also be mindful that those suffering with ­schizophrenia and
experiencing paranoid symptoms may be less likely to consent to
take part in research, and consequently this may skew estimates of
violence among this group (Torrey et al., 2008). In any case, it is
important to take note of Peay’s (2011:95) reminder that the con-
text and meaning of violence (or any other offending behaviour) is
­paramount because ‘violence occurs in a context; it is rarely a uni-
lateral event’.

Personality disorder and links to violent offending

In contrast to the debate surrounding the relationship between mental

illnesses like schizophrenia and violence, a strong empirical link has
long been established between personality disorder and serious crimes
such as homicide and sexual offending (Vinkers et al., 2011). In par-
ticular, Cluster B personality disorders (anti-social, borderline, histri-
onic and narcissistic personality disorders) are particularly common
among offenders charged with violent crime (Vinkers et al., 2011).
Woodworth and Porter (2002:442) found that offenders with psy-
chopathy and a score of 30 and above on the PCL-R (see Box 1.1)
were more likely than other offenders to commit ‘instrumental and
cold-blooded homicides’. Offenders with personality disorder are also
considered to be ‘responsible for a disproportionate amount of serious
repetitive crime and violence’ (Hare and Hart, 1993:106).When com-
pared to offenders without personality disorder, they are more likely
to be violent in prison (Hare and Hart, 1993), and more likely to be
reconvicted at a higher and faster rate following release (Jamieson and
Taylor, 2004). Indeed, one UK study found those with personality

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disorder were seven times more likely than those with mental illness
to be convicted of a serious offence after discharge from a secure hos-
pital (Jamieson and Taylor, 2004).
While there is a strong relationship between personality disorder
(especially anti-social personality disorder) and offending, it is impor-
tant to remember that this is ‘logically inevitable, because the diag-
nosis is derived tautologically from anti-social actions’ (Pilgrim and
Rogers, 2003:8). Of all psychiatric diagnoses, personality disorder is
considered as one of the most problematic because of its lack of spec-
ificity and validity (Robles et al., 2014).5 This has led some to ques-
tion the extent to which personality disorder is a legitimate medical
diagnosis and whether it can be effectively treated. As we will learn
in ­Chapter 3, these uncertainties have played out through a number
of legislative and policy changes concerning personality disorder in
England and Wales.

The role of substance misuse

Many studies suggest that substance misuse may have a greater explan-
atory value than mental disorder for patients who act violently (see e.g.
Fazel et al., 2009; Monahan et al., 2001; Silver, Mulvey and M
­ onahan,
1999). In a review of all homicides committed by those known to
mental health services since 1997, the NCISH (2018) reports that
the majority of perpetrators with mental health problems also had
comorbid substance misuse issues. Importantly, the combination of
mental disorder and substance misuse may increase the likelihood
of violent crime because anti-social traits such as impulsivity and
aggression are exacerbated by substance misuse ­(McMurran, 2008).
Substance misuse may also serve to work against effective treatment
and this may elevate a person’s risk of being violent (McMurran,
2008). But, while the empirical relationship between substance mis-
use, mental disorder and offending appears strong, it is important to
remember that the relationship between substance use and offend-
ing is, like the relationship between mental disorder and offending,
also inherently problematic (Seddon, 2000; Stevens, 2007). While
there are clear correlations, there are also many challenges involved
with understanding the nature and direction of the relationship
­(Anckarsäter et al., 2009). Given that substance ‘misuse’ can involve
many different things, including intoxication, dependence and harm-
ful use (McMurran, 2008), establishing a clear understanding of the
relationship between mental disorder, substance use and offending is
far from straightforward.

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The role of criminogenic factors

General theories of crime can usually be applied to crime committed

by those with mental disorder (Markowitz, 2011) and when com-
pared to other factors such as gender, age, social class and employ-
ment, mental illness appears to be a weak predictor of dangerousness
(Pilgrim and Rogers, 2003). This reminds us of the importance of
criminogenic factors for offending. Moreover, it reminds us that the
risk factors linked to offending are often the same for offenders with
and without mental disorder (Bonta, Law and Hanson, 1998). Peay
(2011:93) asserts that

it is important to remember that mentally disordered people are,

first and foremost, people; which means all of the factors that bear
on people in terms of their preponderance for offending will also
bear on the mentally disordered.

Risk factors, such as the environment in which people reside,

increase the risk of offending for people with and without mental
health problems (Walsh et al., 2003). For example, research suggests
that the relationship between violence and schizophrenia is influ-
enced by the living circumstances of the patient (Hodgins, 2008).
This is significant because people with mental illness are more likely
to reside in ‘socially disorganised’ neighbourhoods, characterised
by greater levels of deprivation, fragmented families and greater
racial diversity (Markowitz, 2011). Moreover, people who reside in
such localities are more likely to break the law (Silver, Mulvey and
­Monahan, 1999).

Victimisation, social deprivation and social exclusion

The victimisation of people with mental disorder is disproportion-

ately high and despite common perceptions that those with mental
disorder are dangerous, the evidence suggests that they are more likely
to be a victim of crime than to harm others (see Chapter 4 for a
discussion). People with mental health problems are also more likely
to have been exposed to a range and higher incidence of traumatic
events (Georgiadis et al., 2016) with forensic patients found to have a
higher prevalence of PTSD when compared to the general population
(Sarkar et al., 2005; Spitzer et al., 2006). Research also suggests that
people with mental health problems are more likely to die as a result
of both suicide and murder (Hiroeh et al., 2001).

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While the relationship between mental health, social deprivation

and poverty is complex (Payne, 2012), studies have found a higher
prevalence of mental health (and substance misuse) problems in
countries with greater economic and social inequalities (Pickett
and Wilkinson, 2010). In the UK, there has been recognition that
people with mental health problems are more likely to experience
social deprivation (Department of Health, 2009; Social Exclusion
Unit, 2002). Along with rising levels of substance abuse, the living
standards experienced by psychiatric patients are thought to be in
decline (Pilgrim and Rogers, 2003). Poverty may lead to homeless-
ness, and this has been identified as a risk factor for the mentally
ill (McNiel, Binder and Robinson, 2005). Poverty and deprivation
may contribute to hopelessness and poorer mental well-being, as
well as lower physical well-being because of the impact of poor
diet and drug and alcohol use (Pilgrim and Rogers, 2003). Peo-
ple with severe mental illness, such as schizophrenia, are dispro-
portionately over-represented in homelessness, imprisonment and
migration statistics (Kelly, 2005). For Kelly (2005:721), the ‘adverse
effects of these social, economic and societal factors, along with the
social stigma of mental illness, constitute a form of “structural vio-
lence”’ that restricts access to services and results in the mentally ill
being ‘systematically excluded from full participation in civic and
social life’.
Experiences of social exclusion among offenders with mental
disorder are considerable (Winstone, 2016) and it is likely that this
is related to the stigma that surrounds mental disorder. Mentally
disordered offenders may experience additional stigma as a result
of being diagnosed with mental illness and detained in hospital
­(Ferrito et al., 2012). In addition, mental health policy and practice
have the potential to further stigmatise service users (Link, Castille
and ­Stuber, 2008). Sadly, negative political rhetoric and ill-informed
media reporting about mental health can be ‘self-defeating’ because
it may increase the social exclusion and vulnerability of those with
mental health problems.This, in turn, can increase their likelihood of
becoming unwell and involvement with crime (Winstone, 2016:7).
Involvement with the criminal justice system can also lead to higher
levels of mental health problems (Peay, 2011), while the stigma
attached to being a ‘mentally disordered offender’ can deter peo-
ple from seeking help (Clement et al., 2014), result in people not
being give meaningful support (Canton, 2016), negatively impact
on their relationships with others (Mezey et al., 2016) and thereby
negatively impact on reintegration efforts (Livingston, Rossiter and
Verdun-Jones, 2011).

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The controv er si a l rel ationship

Treating offenders with mental disorder

Regardless of the relationship between mental disorder and crime,

diagnosing and treating mental health problems remain important tasks
for psychiatry (Anckarsäter et al., 2009). The wide range of offences
committed by mentally disordered offenders, along with their broad
range of psychiatric diagnoses, means that treatment needs can vary
considerably (Knabb, Welsh and Graham-Howard, 2011). While there
continues to be a reliance on the medication of psychiatric prob-
lems (Spandler and Calton, 2009), research suggests that mentally
disordered offenders are likely to benefit from treatment that tackles
a broad range of problems, providing it is multidisciplinary, psycho-
logically informed, structured, supports the acquisition of skills, and
focuses on the treatment of both mental illness and risk (­Robertson,
Barnao and Ward, 2011:482).
Since the early 1990s there has been an ‘unprecedented and excep-
tional rate of development’ of treatment programmes to address
offending behaviour in prison and probation services (McMurran,
Khalifa and Gibbon, 2009:136). Barnao and Ward (2015) identity
three approaches that structure interventions with mentally disordered
offenders: treatments targeting mental health or psychological issues,
treatments based on Risk-Need-Responsivity (RNR) principles or
strengths-based approaches such as the Good Lives Model (GLM).
Many of these are accredited and therefore supported by some evi-
dence of effectiveness. However, research suggests that their effective-
ness is only modest (Duggan, 2008:510).
While a ‘meagre, although expanding’ evidence base concerning
treatments for mentally disordered offenders is beginning to emerge
(Barnao and Ward, 2015:77), research about the effectiveness of reha-
bilitation or different treatment models specifically with mentally
disordered offenders has historically been limited. As a result, many
interventions are based on general guidelines or research that has
been undertaken with general populations (either offenders or people
with mental disorder) (Barnao and Ward, 2015; Robertson, Barnao
and Ward, 2011). While some practitioners have made a number of
adaptations to offending behaviour programmes to help support men-
tally disordered offenders (such as enhanced motivational work and
slower delivery), little is known about the desirability or effectiveness
of these changes (Duggan, 2008:512). As a result, many treatments lack
empirical validation especially with specific (or more complex) men-
tally disordered offenders (Knabb, Welsh and Graham-Howard, 2011).
While treatments such as cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) have
been shown to be effective with some offenders with mental disorder,

16
 The controv er si a l rel ationship

they have also been criticised for failing to address the heterogene-
ity of mentally disordered offenders and their wide range of offend-
ing and psychiatric disorders (Knabb, Welsh and Graham-Howard,
2011). Future offender behaviour programmes need to be developed
with more attention towards mentally disordered offenders, as well as
being more sensitive to Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic (BAME)
people, women, those with learning disabilities, and young offenders
(McMurran, Khalifa and Gibbon, 2009).
Duggan (2008) reminds us that the context in which treatment
is delivered and its over-riding purpose are important considerations
when working with mentally disordered offenders. Indeed, he asks, is
‘the focus of the intervention merely to reduce the likelihood of reof-
fending (largely, though not exclusively, a societal good) or should it
also address the psychological ill health of the individual being treated?’
(Duggan, 2008:505). In addition to exploring the purpose of treatment,
Duggan (2008) encourages us to think further about the context in
which treatment is delivered, and the extent to which mentally dis-
ordered offenders may be coerced into treatment. By virtue of being
detained or subject to community supervision, many mentally disor-
dered offenders may feel they are coerced into treatment and this has
implications for how they view and engage with the treatment on offer.
Therefore, before treatment can start, an offender’s motivation to
change must be addressed (McMurran, 2012). Mentally disordered
offenders are sometimes seen as difficult to treat because ‘they may be
viewed as hostile, acutely unwell, traumatized by their index offence,
mistrustful of forensic services and unwilling to cooperate with
attempts at rehabilitation’ (Robertson, Barnao and Ward, 2011:482).
Chaotic lifestyles, belief that treatment is unhelpful, refusal to seek
help and inaccurate mental health diagnoses are all reasons for why
offenders may have not received treatment in the past (Caulfield,
2016). In addition, features of their mental disorder may make treat-
ment engagement more challenging. For example, some mentally
disordered offenders, like those with personality disorder, have been
identified as particularly difficult to engage with treatment (Howells
and Day, 2007; McMurran, 2012).
There are also a number of important issues surrounding the tim-
ing of treatment. It is difficult to assess when people, especially those
serving long sentences in prison or likely to be detained for a long
period in hospital, should start treatment. Sometimes people are not
ready and have not come to terms with their offence. For those who
have begun and engaged with treatment, it is also very difficult to
know when treatment has concluded satisfactorily. Indeed, ‘resolu-
tion of active symptoms does not represent the completion of the

17
The controv er si a l rel ationship

therapeutic task’ (Carroll, Lyall and Forrester, 2004:415). Therefore,

one of the real challenges involved with treatment is relapse preven-
tion, enabling people to maintain change over time and after their
treatment has ended (McMurran, Khalifa and Gibbon, 2009).

Risk assessment, prevention and management

In addition to trying to understand the relationship between offend-
ing and mental disorder, another fundamental challenge follows from
trying to assess the risk posed by those with mental disorder and their
potential for future offending (Kemshall, 2008; Peay, 2011). Assessing
and managing the risk people present to others is no longer an exclu-
sive activity performed by specialised clinicians (Mullen, 2002b) and
now represents a core function of mental health services (Holloway
and Davies, 2017). The ever-expanding list of risk assessment tools
for use with offenders in criminal justice and mental health services
reflects this. Risk assessment tools are now found at most stages of
the criminal justice system, including sentencing, sentence planning,
decisions about release and community supervision, and can therefore
significantly impact on the ways in which offenders are punished and
treated (Douglas et al., 2017). The use of risk assessment tools at these
different stages of the criminal justice system inevitably raises impor-
tant ethical dilemmas, particularly in terms an offender’s right not
to be unnecessarily detained (or monitored) versus the rights of the
public to protection from those who may pose a harm.
Risk assessment tools are often described, and critiqued, in terms of
different generations. First generation assessment tools refer to unstruc-
tured clinical risk assessments that are undertaken without the support
of structured actuarial risk assessment tools. Clinical risk assessment
involves collecting detailed information (through self-report and doc-
umentation) about a service user’s clinical and social history in order
to make an assessment about their potential risk. Historically, this is
the most common approach to risk assessment (Doyle and Dolan,
2008) and while such forms of risk assessment are celebrated for being
individualised (British Psychological Society, 2006), they are com-
monly criticised for being unstructured, unreliable (Andrews, Bonta
and Wormith, 2006), biased (Carroll, Lyall and Forrester, 2004) and for
having little supporting evidence (Ӕgisdóttir et al., 2006).
To address concerns about the unreliability of unstructured clinical
risk assessments, and in the context of renewed efforts to find out ‘what
works’ in offender management, a second generation of standardised
actuarial risk assessments began to emerge during the 1980s and early

18
 The controv er si a l rel ationship

1990s. While actuarial assessments of risk (when compared to clinical

judgement alone) are considered to be superior in terms of their predic-
tive accuracy, many problems still surround their use (Duggan, 2008) and
some still question their predictive validity (Fazel et al., 2012). Actuarial
tools are also criticised for being time-consuming (Viljoen, McLachlan
and Vincent, 2010), expensive (Fazel et al., 2012), being overly reliant
on static factors (that an individual cannot change), and for overlooking
individual risk factors that lack an evidence base (Duggan, 2008).
In an attempt to address the problems inherent with clinical and
actuarial assessments of risk, a third generation of ‘structured pro-
fessional judgement’ emerged (see Douglas, Ogloff and Hart, 2003).
This approach combines structured risk assessment tools with clini-
cal interviews and has been judged as the most effective risk assess-
ment practice (Scott and Resnick, 2006). The emphasis, according
to ­Duggan (2008:248), is to develop evidence-based frameworks for
assessing risk which are systematic and consistent as well as ‘flexible
enough to account for case-specific influences and the contexts in
which assessments are conducted’.
A common criticism of the risk assessment approaches described
above is that they are not particularly useful for devising a suitable
risk management or prevention plan. This has led some to observe
the emergence of a fourth generation of risk assessment that aims
to move beyond ‘assessment’ and provide a structure to support the
supervision and case management of offenders (Andrews, Bonta and
Wormith, 2006:8). Risk assessments are also increasingly structured
by strengths-based approaches that attempt to explore offender
goals and aspirations as well as their problems and risks (Vandevelde
et al., 2017).6
Assessments of risk, whether clinical or actuarial, often focus on an
offender’s static and dynamic risk factors. Static risk factors are historical
and fixed factors in an offender’s life that cannot be changed.They might
include histories of violence, the nature of an offender’s index offence
or previous experiences of abuse. In contrast, dynamic risk factors are
changeable and include the use of drugs and alcohol or active symptoms
of mental illness. Therefore, the risks associated with these types of fac-
tors may be reduced through targeted intervention and management. In
the context of risk assessment, static risk factors are sometimes thought
to be problematic because they focus on features of an offender’s life that
cannot be changed. This can be stigmatising and detract attention away
from the changing nature of people’s dynamic risk to others (­Mullen,
2002b). However, static risk factors are also usually thought to repre-
sent good predictors of behaviour like future violence, leading Carroll,
Lyall and Forrester (2004:412) to observe that ‘ethically, it is consistent

19
The controv er si a l rel ationship

with the notion of proportionality for a higher degree of caution to be

applied where there is a very serious index offence’.
With more than 200 structured risk assessment tools now in use
across forensic and criminal justice settings (Singh et al., 2014), we do
not have space to permit a thorough review. However, some of the
most common risk assessment tools used with violent, sexual and/
or mentally disordered offenders in England and Wales are listed in
Box 1.1, and in the pages that follow, we briefly outline some of the
key challenges involved with the risk assessment and management of
mentally disordered offenders.

Box 1.1 Common risk assessment tools used in

England and Wales

• The Offender Assessment System (OASys) is a structured risk

assessment tool used with adult offenders across England and Wales.
OASys is used throughout an offender’s sentence to help probation
staff assess offending related needs, assess an offenders risk of serious
harm and likelihood of reoffending, and to help inform sentence plan-
ning (NOMS, 2016).
• The Offender Group Reconviction Scale (OGRS) (Howard et al., 2009)
is a risk assessment tool based on static factors and has been routinely
used by the probation service in England and Wales since the 1990s (Fran-
cis, Soothill and Humphreys, 2007). The most recent version (OGRS-III)
is based on a large sample of offenders (n=71,519) and can generate
reconviction probabilities for 12- and 24-month periods (Francis, Soothill
and Humphreys, 2007).
• The Risk Matrix 2000 (RM2000) (Thornton et al., 2003) is used with
men convicted of a sexual offence. The violence version, the RM2000/V, is
used in respect of non-sexual violence. Each uses verified historical infor-
mation (i.e. static factors) to place the assessed person into one of four
risk categories (low, medium, high or very high).
• The HCR-20 (Webster et al., 1997) is a structured clinical risk a­ ssessment
tool with 20 items – ten historical (H), five clinical (C) and five risk man-
agement (R). Scoring is based on a 0–2 scale (0 = not present, 1 = possi-
bly present and 2 = item present), yielding a maximum score of 40. The
HCR-20 has been used in civil and forensic settings and has been found
to have good predictive validity (Douglas et al., 2005).
• The Violence Risk Scale (VRS) (Wong and Gordon, 2000) was designed
to assess the risk presented by forensic patients. Version 2 of the VRS is

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based on 6 static and 20 dynamic risk factors, each rated between 0 and 3.
Over a two-year period, Duggan (2008) reports that the VRS has a strong
predictive validity.
• The Violence Risk Appraisal Guide (VRAG) (Webster et al., 1994) is
based on 12 items. Duggan (2008) suggests that given 3 of the 12 items
rely on previous convictions, it is a tool best suited to those in custodial or
secure forensic settings. One of the reasons for this is that it does not take
drug and alcohol use into account and its validity in community samples
may therefore be limited (Murray and Thomson, 2010).
• The Psychopathy Checklist-Revised (PCL-R) (Hare, 1991) is an
assessment tool that is used to assess psychopathy. The tool is based
on a 20-item scale. Each item is scored 0-2 with a maximum score
of 40. The cut-off score for psychopathy varies in different services and
countries but is often set at 25 or 30. While the PCL-R was originally
developed to diagnose psychopathy, its association with criminality has
led to it also being commonly used for assessing offender risk (Leistico
et al., 2008).

Problems with accuracy and bias

Despite common perceptions that psychiatrists are good at predict-

ing future risk, the empirical evidence suggests they are not (see
­Kemshall (2003) for a review). Some have even suggested that psy-
chiatric judgements about dangerousness are usually no better than
lay judgements (Gardner et al., 1996). One problem follows from
the ‘actuarial fallacy’. The problem here is that while individuals
may belong to groups statistically more likely to commit a crime
or pose a threat, risk assessment tools are unable to identify which
specific individuals in those groups will go on to commit such acts
­(Fitzgibbon 2007b; Mullen, 2006). This can lead to a high number
of ‘false positives’, people incorrectly judged by risk assessment tools
as likely to offend but who do not go on to offend (Fazel el al.,
2012). Given many of these people may be subject to longer periods
of detention or extra-stringent community supervision, this raises a
number of ethical challenges. Risk assessments are also thought to
be problematic because they tend to stereotype vulnerable groups,
including those with mental illness (Fitzgibbon, 2007a).This reminds
us that risk assessments are not neutral and can involve problematic
cultural assumptions (Maurutto and Hannah-Moffat, 2006; Shepherd
and Anthony, 2018).

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Ethically problematic

There are significant ethical issues involved with assessing the risk of
people with mental disorder (Buchanan and Grounds, 2011; Eastman,
2002; Mullen, 2000b; Roychowdhury and Adshead, 2014). Ethical
challenges are raised by the presence of competing values involved
with risk assessment and are made worse by their poor predictive
accuracy (Douglas et al., 2017). Because individual factors are given
greater weight in risk assessment practices larger structural factors are
often overlooked (Langan, 2010) and, given the significant disadvan-
tage experienced by many mentally disordered offenders, this can
leave them ‘doubly disadvantaged’. In practice, Gergel and Szmulker
(2017:226) note that ‘despite hopes that coercive measures in psychi-
atry should reflect the patient’s best interests, all too often it appears
that inaccurate and unsubstantiated estimation of risk becomes the
over-riding motivation’.
While risk assessments can infringe patient freedoms, there are also
clear benefits to the patient including more in-depth risk assessment,
closer supervision and proactive interventions (Duggan, 2008). Even
when a risk assessment leads to an offender being detained in secure
services for longer, this may still be seen in the ‘best interests’ of this
person, since detention may prevent a relapse of their symptoms,
re-offending and future periods of hospitalisation (Douglas et al.,
2017). Moreover, ‘the view that medical professionals ought never to
act against a patient’s best interests can be contested’ since there may
be circumstances when it is just and appropriate for a clinician to act
in a way that protects others (Douglas et al., 2017:135).

An attempt to know the unknowable

The accuracy of a risk assessment is inevitably dependent on the

quality of information available (Carroll, Lyall and Forrester, 2004).
However, assessing the risk of harm to others is a difficult and uncer-
tain enterprise (McAlinden, 2001; McSherry, 2004). Essentially, risk
assessment tools are characterised by an attempt to predict events that
are unpredictable (Kemshall, 2003). Yet, despite the ‘significant issues
in “knowing” the risk of dangerous offenders, risk assessment prac-
tice (along with policy and legislation) are all conducted as if we can
know them’ (Kemshall, 2008:13, emphasis in original). While we can
estimate the likelihood of ‘new stressful life events … their actual
occurrence is “unknowable”’ (Carroll, Lyall and Forrester, 2004:414).
Problematically, risk assessment tools are most limited in their ability

22
 The controv er si a l rel ationship

to accurately predict rare events (Crawford, 2000; Szmulker, 2000; von

Hirsch, 1998).The difficulty of course is that rare events, such as mur-
der and serious sexual violence, are the types of event that we want to
prevent most (Kemshall, 2008).

Inductive prevention paradox and staff-offender

responses

A further problem is presented by the ‘inductive prevention paradox’

(see Davison, Frankel and Smith, 1992 cited in Markham, 2018). This
occurs when professionals in secure settings are required to make
assessments of how likely a patient is to offend in the very environ-
ment (i.e. a ward or prison wing) that is designed to prevent such
events from happening (Markham, 2018).This reflects how risk assess-
ments lack ecological validity because they are ‘unclear how the skills
which service users develop in order to cope with highly structured
institutionalised environments will equip them to cope with greater
freedom’ (Heyman et al., 2007:5). The consequences of this can be
problematic, since patients may respond by ‘faking’ good behaviour
and, in turn, clinicians ‘may engage in deception in the hope of seeing
through the camouflage of self-presentation’ (Heyman et al., 2007:8).
Compliance, therefore, becomes a ‘game’ and a ‘tactical resource’
(Davies et al., 2006:1104) as forensic patients aim to ‘actively manage
their own risk status’ in order to secure greater autonomy and free-
dom (Reynolds et al., 2014:199).

Risk assessment may undermine treatment and

resettlement

One problem that follows from offenders (and staff) ‘playing a game’
when it comes to risk assessment is that such reactions have the poten-
tial to undermine the therapeutic relationship, which is thought to
be key to reducing an offender’s risk.Yet, many criminal justice prac-
tices, such as probation supervision, are constructed in such a way
that offenders are encouraged to ‘play the system’ (Durnescu, 2011).
In addition, some exhibit concern that risk assessment is a process
done to offenders and that this may lead to poor engagement or trust
in the process (Crewe, 2011). Crewe (2011:516) also highlights that
‘many prisoners regard psychological discourse as a form of normative
imperialism’ that fails to properly take offender perspectives and values
into account. A preoccupation with risk assessment may also distract

23
The controv er si a l rel ationship

practitioners from providing good care and treatment (Holloway and

Davies, 2017) as well as resettlement and aftercare (Trebilcock and
Worrall, 2018).

Desistance and offenders with mental

disorder
Compared to research about the risk factors for future reoffending
and the mentally ill, research concerning protective factors has been
sparse (Göbbels, Thakker and Ward, 2016) (although see de Ruiter
and Nicholls (2011) for an exception). However, there is increas-
ing evidence that focusing on protective factors is an important part
of encouraging effective recovery and should be an essential part
of risk management (Rennie and Dolan, 2010). An essential part of
recovery for forensic patients also involves developing a sense of self
that is separate from the ‘offender’ identity that they may also have
­(Simpson and Penney, 2018). However, mentally disordered offenders
have often been marginalised by overly medicalised understandings
of their behaviour and this has meant that the desistance perspective
is less apparent in the academic and policy discussions that surround
them (Canton, 2016). While the desistance literature highlights the
importance of individual narratives (see e.g. Maruna, 2001), deten-
tion in secure mental health services, and the loss of individuality that
may follow, can work against service users developing a sense of self
(Simpson and Penney, 2018). Similarly, in the community, stringent
risk management may undermine a service user’s attempt to construct
a new identity and reintegrate themselves (Coffey, 2011). For example,
in his research about aftercare monitoring, Coffey (2011:757) observes
that ‘while patients constructed deviant labels as historical, workers
orientated towards these as current, thereby challenging emergent
identity work’. However, research suggests that an essential part of
recovery for forensic patients involves developing a sense of self that is
separate from the ‘offender’ identity that they may also have (Simpson
and Penney, 2018).

Methodological challenges in the forensic

mental health field

The methodological challenges in this field extend far beyond the

difficult question about the nature of the relationship between men-
tal disorder and offending. At all stages of the criminal justice system

24
 The controv er si a l rel ationship

substantial gaps, along with variation in research design and quality,

make it difficult to not only establish the prevalence of mental health
problems but also the effectiveness of interventions that are used with
mentally disordered offenders. In the following pages, we summarise
some of the key challenges, but readers are directed to Peay (2011) for
a thorough overview of the methodological difficulties that permeate
this field.

Gaps in knowledge and understanding

Undertaking research with mentally disordered offenders is a far from

straightforward task. Mental health services are often described as the
Cinderella of NHS services, with considerably more funding allocated
to other more ‘worthy’ health problems. Unfortunately, this discrep-
ancy is also replicated in the money that is allocated to mental health
research, with mental disorders receiving far less research attention
than physical disorders (McManus et al., 2009). Studies about proba-
tion and mental health (Brooker et al., 2012; Sirdifield, 2012) and the
effectiveness of public protection measures in the community are also
sparse (Kemshall, 2008). In addition, there are a number of challenges
involved with reviewing the evidence surrounding the ‘policing of
mental health’ (Cummins, 2012; Young et al., 2013) and evaluating
the impact of liaison and diversion schemes because of their consid-
erable variation (Dyer, 2013). Research in this field can also be lim-
ited because of the challenges involved with gaining access to suitable
samples of participants. These challenges mean that many gaps in the
literature remain.

Establishing prevalence

There are numerous problems with data concerning the prevalence of

mental disorders. In fact, the diverse prevalence rates found across dif-
ferent research studies may tell us more about the methodological var-
iation between these studies than actual prevalence (Lindsay, Hastings
and Beech, 2011). As a result, the reported findings of many studies
may be significant under-representations. Many mental disorders go
undiagnosed because patients do not seek treatment or because GPs
are poor at identifying milder cases of mental disorder (NICE, 2011).
Moreover, many offenders are not registered with a GP (Department
of Health, 2007), or do not receive treatment, and this may mean they
are overlooked by official statistics (Caulfield, 2016). As we will learn

25
The controv er si a l rel ationship

throughout the book, there are many problems involved with identi-
fying people with mental health needs, and this has implications for
service delivery as well for the reliability of research.

Establishing effectiveness

A recent review by Völlm and colleagues (2018:69) concludes that

‘overall, the evidence base for forensic psychiatry is weak and future
high quality trials are urgently needed in this complex and doubly
stigmatised patient group’. However, while psychiatric research strives
to adopt a ‘scientific approach’, in practice, psychiatry has a poor
empirical basis because it is ‘virtually impossible’ to design an adequate
experimental study in this field (Anckarsäter et al., 2009). Many treat-
ment studies in this field are poorly controlled. Therefore, many argue
that more research with adequate control groups is needed to validate
the range of treatments that are available to, and used with, offend-
ers with mental health problems (Knabb, Welsh and Graham-Howard,
2011). However, there are several ethical and methodological chal-
lenges involved with using control groups with high-risk offenders
(Ferriter and Huband, 2005; Kemshall, 2008). Consequently, many
treatment studies concerning mentally disordered offenders tend to
rely on case studies or theoretical conceptualisations (Knabb, Welsh
and Graham-Howard, 2011). In addition to methodological problems
surrounding treatment populations and the use of satisfactory con-
trols, some studies are limited as a result of the interventions being
poorly defined (Knabb, Welsh and Graham-Howard, 2011).

Discussion

This first chapter has illuminated some of the many complexities that
surround people who have a mental disorder and who have also come
to the attention of the criminal justice system. In the closing pages,
we seek to outline some of the key implications that follow from the
issues we have described. While a relationship between mental health
and offending can definitely be observed, we have highlighted that
too many factors are at play to say with any certainty that one leads
to the other. Thornicroft (2006:13) clearly articulates this when he
observes:

whether or not there is any additional risk depends upon the type
of diagnosis, the nature and severity of the symptoms present,

26
 The controv er si a l rel ationship

whether the person is receiving treatment and care, if there is a

past history of violence by the individual, the co-occurrence of
antisocial personality disorder and substance misuse and the social,
economic and cultural context in which an individual lives.

The problematic (and ultimately, unknown) relationship between

mental health and offending raises significant issues for law and pol-
icy, as well as for practice. Every year the criminal justice and mental
health systems must deal with large numbers of people who come
under their care and who may pose a very real risk of harm to them-
selves and others. This reminds us that the mental health of offenders
is a critical public health issue (Seymour, 2010). Questions about
whether someone’s mental disorder led them to commit a crime
may be difficult to answer, but the views formed will impact on
what happens to a defendant at court (Buchanan and Zonana, 2009).
This means that the ‘mental health of an individual is a factor that
can, and should, be a consideration in decision making at all points
of the criminal justice system’ (Cummins, 2016:20, our emphasis).
However, policy commonly fails to recognise the diversity of what
is meant by mental disorder and the experiences that may follow
(Canton, 2016), while challenges with the lack of adequate data
mean that it is difficult to plan services as well as monitor outcomes
(National Audit Office, 2017). Once involved in services, a lack of
shared meanings can lead to misunderstandings between different
professionals ­(Durcan, 2016).
These final observations remind us that mentally disordered
offenders present ‘problems of organisational responsibility’ (Harris,
1999:13), in part, because of the plurality of perspectives that surround
them (Davies et al., 2006). As a result, the extent to which offenders
with mental health problems fall under the criminal justice or foren-
sic mental health system, is serendipitous (Prins, 2016:102). As we will
see in the remainder of the book, criminal justice and mental health
services must manage a difficult balance between the ethical care of
the patient along with adequate protection of the public (Carroll,
Lyall and Forrester, 2004). Unfortunately, this can leave mentally dis-
ordered offenders in ‘no-man’s-land’ where they risk being rejected
by health practitioners because of their offending behaviour and by
criminal justice practitioners because they have mental health prob-
lems (Duggan, 2008:508; see also Howells, Day and Thomas-­Peter,
2004). Alternatively, professional anxieties about the risk posed by
those with mental health problems and a lack of clarity about who
should be responsible, may lead to responses that are disproportionate
and overly-controlling.

27
The controv er si a l rel ationship

Further reading

For a considered discussion about the challenges involved with both

psychiatric and legal classification and understandings of mental dis-
order see Walvisch (2017). For the case for abolishing psychiatric
diagnoses see Timimi (2014). For a discussion about the value of the
medical model (as well as a critique) see Bartlett (2010). For a com-
prehensive overview of the relationship between mental health and
crime see Peay (2011, 2017) and Silver (2006). For a recent review of
the assessment and treatment of offenders with mental disorder see
Völlm et al. (2018), although see also Duggan (2008). For a discussion
about the problems involved with risk assessment in criminal justice
and forensic psychiatry see Douglas et al. (2017). For an overview of
different theoretical models used in the treatment and rehabilitation
of mentally disordered offenders see Robertson, Barnao and Ward
(2011) along with Howells, Day and Thomas-Peter (2004). Finally, for
an extended discussion about desistance, mental disorder and offend-
ing see Göbbels, Thakker and Ward (2016).

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33
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view the object through it, and then, with the eye above the object-
glass, to gradually raise the body until the object is in focus.

Fig. 47.—Cell for small Living Objects

The top of the cover-glass should always be perfectly dry; and if by any
chance the objective becomes wet it should be wiped perfectly dry with
a piece of old silk or with chamois leather. Also, if permanent mounting
is attempted, and the preservative liquid is allowed to come in contact
with the objective, such liquid must, of course, be washed off with some
suitable solvent before any attempt is made to wipe the lens dry.
If the object under examination is of such dimensions that the cover-
glass has a tendency to rock on it, or if it is a living object of such a size
that it is unable to move freely in the exceedingly thin film of water
between the cover and the slip, it should be placed in a cell. The cell
may be made by cementing a ring of glass or vulcanite to the middle of
a slip, or it may be a little circular cavity prepared in the slip itself. In
either case the cell must be quite full of water before the cover-glass is
applied, so that no air-bubbles are included.
Hitherto we have spoken only of mounting small objects in water, and
this is advisable when the object is moist, whether it be animal or
vegetable, alive or dead. But dry objects may be examined in the dry
state, in which case they need not be covered. If they are composed of
transparent material they are to be dealt with in the manner
recommended before, as far as the management of the light is
considered; that is, a moderately strong light is sent through them by
the reflector below the stage; but opaque objects are best examined on
a dead black ground, the light being directed on to them by means of a
condensing lens placed between them and the source of light.
A collector who has done only a few days’ work on the sea shore will
probably find himself the possessor of a host of interesting objects that
will afford much pleasure and instruction when placed under the
microscope—objects, many of which have been somewhat hastily
deposited in a bottle of spirit or other preservative for study in his future
leisure moments. These objects, if small, may be examined as above
described, simply placing them under a cover-glass, or in a cell, with a
clear drop of the same liquid in which they have been kept.
The general characters of the larger objects may also be observed by
means of some kind of hand lens, but even these are generally best
examined under water or other suitable liquid.
A great deal may be learnt of natural objects by preparing very thin
sections for microscopic examination; and although special works should
be consulted if one desires to become proficient in the different
methods of cutting and preparing such sections, yet a great amount of
good work may be done with the aid of a sharp razor, manipulated with
nothing more than ordinary skill.
Some objects, especially certain of those of the vegetable world, are of
such a nature that suitable sections may be cut, either from the fresh or
preserved specimen, without any preliminary preparation. All that is
required is to hold the object firmly between the finger and thumb of
the left hand, previously securing it in some kind of holder if necessary,
and pare off the thinnest possible slices with a horizontal movement of
the razor, both razor and object being kept very wet during the process.
As the sections are cut they may be allowed to drop into a shallow
vessel of water; and, the thinnest then selected for examination in
water as previously described.
Other objects are so soft that the cutting of sections becomes
impossible without previously hardening them. Methylated spirit is a
good hardening reagent, and many of the soft structures that have
been preserved in this fluid, especially if it has been used undiluted, will
be found sufficiently hard for cutting thin sections. Among the other
hardening reagents used by microscopists may be mentioned a solution
of chromic acid—one part by weight of the solid acid dissolved in from
one hundred to two hundred parts of water, and a solution of
bichromate of potash—one part of the bichromate to about forty parts
of water. In either case the hardening of the object takes place slowly,
and it should be examined from day to day until the necessary
consistence has been obtained.
The structures of many soft animals can never be satisfactorily
hardened for section-cutting by either of the above reagents, and thus it
becomes necessary either to freeze or to imbed them. In the former
case the object is first soaked in gum water—a thin solution of gum
arabic—and then frozen by an ether spray or by a mixture of ice and
salt. The sections should be cut with a razor just as the object is
beginning to thaw, and they may then be examined under a cover-
glass, in a drop of the gum water.
The other method is conducted as follows:—The soft object is first
soaked in absolute alcohol to extract all the water it contains, and is
then transferred to paraffin that has been heated just to its melting-
point by standing it in warm water. After the object is thoroughly
permeated with the paraffin, the whole is cooled quickly by immersion
in cold water. Sections are now cut, the paraffin being sliced away with
the substance it contains. These sections are placed in warm turpentine,
where they are allowed to remain until the whole of the wax has
dissolved, and they may then be mounted in a drop of turpentine, and
covered with a cover-glass.
We have given brief instructions for temporary mounting only, but most
amateur microscopists would undoubtedly prefer mounting their objects
permanently, so that they may be set aside for study at any future
period. Hence we append a few directions to this end, advising the
reader, however, to consult a work dealing especially with this subject if
he desires to become proficient in the preparation of microscopic slides.
Moist objects, including those which have been preserved in dilute
spirit, may be soaked in water, then transferred direct to the glass slip,
and covered with a drop of glycerine. Any excess of the glycerine should
then be absorbed from around the cover-glass by means of a strip of
blotting-paper, and the edge of the cover cemented by gold size applied
with a small camel-hair brush.
Glycerine jelly is also a valuable mountant for permanent work. When
this is used the object should first be soaked in glycerine, and then in
the melted jelly. It is then transferred to a drop of melted jelly which
has been placed on a warm slide, and covered as before. The jelly soon
solidifies, so that a ring of cement is not absolutely necessary, though it
is advisable, as a rule, to cement the cover-glass all round with gold size
or black varnish.
Sections cut while frozen are best mounted in glycerine, to which they
may be transferred direct.
Canada balsam is one of the best media for permanent mounting; and,
as it becomes very hard after a time, it serves the purposes of both
preservative and cement. When this is used the object must be entirely
freed from water by soaking it in absolute alcohol. It is then put into
turpentine for a minute or two, transferred to a warm slide, and covered
with a drop of the prepared balsam. Sections that have been imbedded
in paraffin may be mounted in this way, the turpentine acting as a
solvent for the paraffin in which it was cut.
Although the compound microscope is absolutely necessary for the
study of the minutest forms of life and of the minute structure of the
various tissues of larger beings, yet the young naturalist will find that a
vast amount of good work may be done without its aid. Thus the
general structure of the larger species may be made out by means of
simple dissections requiring no extraordinary skill on the part of the
worker, and with appliances that may be obtained at a low cost. Certain
of the marine animals, however, require special treatment that can
hardly be described in a short chapter devoted to general instructions
only, but hints with regards to these will be given in future chapters in
which the animals referred to are described.
The appliances referred to above include nothing more than a simple
form of dissecting trough, a few dissecting instruments, and one or two
minor accessories that may always be found at hand as required.
The dissection of animals is always best performed under water, for by
this method the object examined may not only be kept clean as the
work proceeds, but the parts, having a tendency to float, readily
separate from one another and therefore become more distinctly visible
when submerged.
 Fig. 48.—Sheet of Cork on thin Sheet Lead

A very convenient form of trough may be made by taking any kind of

rectangular, flat-bottomed dish, one made of zinc being, perhaps, the
best of all, and covering the bottom with a slab of good cork carpet
which has been weighted with sufficient lead to prevent it from floating.
Or, instead of cork carpet, a sheet of cork may be used. In either case,
a piece of thin sheet lead, a little larger than the slab, should be cut, the
corners of which are then snipped off as shown in fig. 48, and the
edges finally turned over as represented in the next illustration. The size
of the trough must be regulated according to the nature of the work to
be done, but one measuring ten inches long, seven wide, and two
inches deep will answer most purposes.

Fig. 49.—Weighted Cork for Dissecting Trough

The object to be dissected is placed in the trough, secured in position

by means of a few ordinary pins, and then completely covered with
water.
We need hardly impress upon the reader the great importance of
thoroughly examining all external characters—all those structures that
are visible without actual dissection—before attempting to remove
anything; and we have already insisted on the importance of carefully
examining all creatures while alive before anything else is done. The
value of this latter stipulation can hardly be overestimated, for in many
instances it is almost impossible to detect the use of an organ unless it
has been observed in action; and the enthusiastic student will go even
further than this, for he will make it an invariable rule to sketch
everything he sees, and to make full notes on all his observations.
When pins are used to fix the object under examination—and it is
generally essential that the object be fixed—their heads should be
turned outwards; for then the object will not slip from its position, nor
will the pins tend to get in the way of the work.
Some objects are of such a nature that they are not easily secured by
means of pins, and yet require to be fixed in some way or other. Thus,
one may desire to examine the structure and appendages of a prawn or
small crab, or to investigate the nature of a chiton. In such instances as
these it is a good plan to make a cake of paraffin wax of suitable size by
pouring the melted substance into a mould, then secure the object in
proper position in the wax while still fluid, and pin the latter to the cork
of the dissecting trough.
It is often necessary to trace the courses of internal passages that open
on the surface of the body, or of tubes that are revealed during the
progress of dissection, and this may be done by means of a little
instrument called a seeker. It is simply a blunted needle, bent into a
large angle, and mounted in a handle; or, it may consist of nothing but
a moderately long and stiff bristle, rendered blunt at one end by tipping
it with melted sealing wax. This is not always sufficient, however, for it
frequently happens that certain tubes and passages in animal forms are
disposed in such a complicated manner that it is impossible to send
even the most flexible seeker through them. For instance, suppose one
desires to trace the course of the digestive tube of some large bivalve
mollusc with its many reflections, the seeker is useless except that it will
penetrate to the first sharp bend. The arrangement of such a tube must
be traced by dissecting along its course, but this may be aided
considerably by first filling it with some coloured substance to enable its
direction to be more easily followed. In fact, the injection of some
brightly coloured fluid, forced through the tube by means of a fine-
nozzled glass syringe will often enable the course of such a tube to be
seen without any dissection at all, the colour of the fluid used being
detected through the semi-transparent tissues surrounding it. A mixture
of Berlin blue and water, or a mixture of plaster of Paris and water
coloured with carmine is well adapted to this purpose; and if the latter
is employed it may be allowed to set, and thus produce a permanent
cast from the tube that is being dissected. Perhaps it should be
mentioned that if either of the injection mixtures be used for this
purpose it must be previously strained through muslin, and that, in the
case of the plaster, the mixing and straining should occupy as little time
as possible, or it may begin to set before the injection has been
completed.
A very considerable insight into the structure of animals may be
frequently obtained by cutting sections through the body with all its
organs in situ, but, generally speaking, they are too soft to allow of this
without danger of the displacement of those very parts, the relations of
which we desire to determine. To avoid this the body should be
previously hardened by a somewhat prolonged soaking in methylated
spirit, or in a solution of chromic acid prepared as before directed. Then,
with the aid of a good razor, very interesting sections may be prepared
with the greatest of ease, and the true relations of the various organs
throughout the body may be exactly determined by cutting a succession
of slices, not necessarily very thin, from end to end, or, transversely,
from side to side.
Even those crustaceans that are protected by a hard, calcareous exo-
skeleton, and the molluscs that cannot be removed from their stony
shells without injury to their soft structures, may be studied in the
manner just described, and this may be done by first soaking them in
dilute hydrochloric acid, renewed as often as may be necessary, until all
the mineral matter has been dissolved completely, and then hardening
the softer tissues in one of the reagents mentioned above. Hydrochloric
acid may also be used to dissolve the calcareous shells of foraminifers,
the vegetable corallines, and other small forms of life, previous to
microscopic examination of the soft parts.
 CHAPTER VII
THE PROTOZOA OF THE SEA SHORE

We shall now study the principal forms of animal life to be found on the
sea shore; and, in order that the reader may thoroughly understand the
broader principles of classification, so as to be able to locate each
creature observed in its approximate position in the scale of life, we
shall consider each group in its zoological order, commencing with the
lowest forms, and noting, as we proceed, the distinguishing
characteristics of each division.
The present chapter will be devoted to the Protozoa—the sub-kingdom
that includes the simplest of all animal beings.
Each animal in this division consists of a minute mass of a jelly-like
substance called protoplasm, exhibiting little or no differentiation in
structure. There is no true body-cavity, no special organs for the
performance of distinct functions, and no nervous system.
Perhaps we can best understand the nature of a protozoon by selecting
and examining a typical example:
Remove a small quantity of the green thread-like algous weed so
commonly seen attached to the banks of both fresh and salt water
pools, or surrounding floating objects, and place it in a glass with a little
of the water in which it grew. This weed probably shelters numerous
protozoons, among which we are almost sure to find some amœbæ if
we examine a drop of the water under the high power of a microscope.
The amœba is observed to be a minute mass
of protoplasm with an average diameter of
about one-hundredth of an inch, endowed
with a power of motion and locomotion. Its
 Fig. 50.—The Amœba, body is not uniformly clear, for the interior
highly magnified
portion is seen to contain a number of minute
granules, representing the undigested portions
of the animal’s food. There is a small mass of denser protoplasm near
the centre, termed the nucleus, and also a clear space filled with fluid.
This latter is called the vacuole, and is probably connected with the
processes of respiration and excretion, for it may be seen to contract at
irregular intervals, and occasionally to collapse and expel its contents.
As we watch the amœba we see that it is continually changing its
shape, sending out temporary prolongations (pseudopodia) of its
gelatinous substance from any part, and sometimes using these
extended portions for the purpose of dragging itself along.
Its method of feeding is as remarkable as it is simple. On coming in
contact with any desired morsel, it sends out two pseudopods, one on
each side of the food. These two pseudopods gradually extend round
the food, till, at last, they meet and coalesce on the opposite side of it,
thus completely enclosing it within the body. Any part of the body of the
amœba may thus be converted into a temporary mouth; and, there
being no special cavity to serve the purpose of a stomach, the process
of digestion will proceed equally well in any part of the body except in
the superficial layer, where the protoplasm is of a slightly firmer
consistence than that of the interior. Further, the process of digestion
being over, any portion of the superficial layer may be converted into a
temporary opening to admit of the discharge of indigestible matter.

Fig. 51.—The Amœba, showing

Fig. 52.—The Amœba, feeding
changes of form

The amœba is an omnivorous feeder, but subsists mainly on vegetable

organisms, especially on diatoms and other minute algæ; and the
siliceous skeletons of the former may often be seen within the body of
the animal, under the high power of a microscope.
The multiplication of the amœba is brought about by a process of
fission or division. At first the nucleus divides into two, and then the
softer protoplasm contracts in the middle, and finally divides into two
portions, each of which contains one of the nuclei. The two distinct
animals thus produced both grow until they reach the dimensions of
their common progenitor.
All the protozoons resemble the amœba in
general structure and function; but while some
are even simpler in organisation, others are
more highly specialised. Some, like the
amœba, are unicellular animals; that is, they
Fig. 53.—The Amœba, consist of a single, simple speck of
dividing
protoplasm; but others live in colonies, each
newly formed cell remaining attached to its
parent cell, until at last a comparatively large compound protozoon is
formed.
The sub-kingdom is divided into several classes, the principal of which,
together with their leading characteristics, are shown in the following
table:—
1. Rhizopods:—Body uniform in consistence. Pseudopods protruded
from any point.
2. Protoplasta:—Outer protoplasm slightly firmer in consistence.
Pseudopods protruded from any point. (Often grouped with the
Rhizopods.)
3. Radiolaria:—Possessing a central membranous capsule. Usually
supported by a flinty skeleton.
4. Infusoria:—Outer protoplasm firmer and denser; therefore of more
definite shape.
Possess permanent threadlike extensions of protoplasm instead
of pseudopods.
We shall now observe the principal marine members of the protozoa,
commencing with the lowest forms, and dealing with each in its proper
zoological order as expressed in the above table.
 Marine Rhizopods
When we stand on a beach of fine sand on a very calm day watching
the progress of the ripples over the sand as the tide recedes we
frequently observe whitish lines marking the limits reached by the
successive ripples as they advance toward the shore. If, now, we scrape
up a little of the surface sand, following the exact course of one of
these whitish streaks, and examine the material obtained by the aid of a
good lens, we shall in all probability discover a number of minute shells
among the grains of sand.
These shells are of various shapes—little spheres, discs, rods, spirals,
&c.; but all resemble each other in that they are perforated with a
number of minute holes or foramina. They are the skeletons of
protozoons, belonging to the class Rhizopoda, and they exist in
enormous quantities on the beds of certain seas.

Fig. 54.—A group of Foraminifers, magnified

We will first examine the shells, and then study the nature of the little
animals that inhabit them.
The shells vary very much in general appearance as well as in shape.
Some are of an opaque, dead white, the surface somewhat resembling
that of a piece of unglazed porcelain; others more nearly resemble
glazed porcelain, while some present quite a vitreous appearance, much
after the nature of opal. In all cases, however, the material is the same,
all the shells consisting of carbonate of lime, having thus the same
chemical composition as chalk, limestones, and marble.
If hydrochloric acid be added to some of these shells, they are
immediately attacked by the acid and are dissolved in a very short time,
the solution being accompanied by an effervescence due to the escape
of carbonic acid gas.
The shells vary in size from about one-twelfth to one three-hundredth of
an inch, and consist either of a single chamber, or of many chambers
separated from each other by perforated partitions of the same
material. Sometimes these chambers are arranged in a straight line, but
more frequently in the form of a single or double spiral. In some cases,
however, the arrangement of chambers is very complex.
We have already referred to the fact that the shells present a number of
perforations on the exterior, in addition to those which pierce the
partitions within, and it is this characteristic which has led to the
application of the name Foraminifera (hole-bearing) to the little beings
we are considering.

Fig. 55.—A Spiral Foraminifer Fig. 56.—A Foraminifer out of its

Shell shell

The animal inhabiting the shell is exceedingly simple in structure, even

more so than the amœba. It is merely a speck of protoplasm, exhibiting
hardly any differentiation—nothing, in fact, save a contractile cavity (the
vacuole), and numerous granules that probably represent the
indigestible fragments of its food.
The protoplasm fills the shell, and also forms a complete gelatinous
covering on the outside, when the animal is alive; and the vacuole and
granules circulate somewhat freely within the semi-solid mass. Further,
the protoplasm itself is highly contractile, as may be proved by
witnessing the rapidity with which the animal can change its form.
When the foraminifer is alive, it floats freely in the sea, with a
comparatively long and slender thread of its substance protruded
through each hole in the shell. These threads correspond exactly in
function with the blunt pseudopodia of the amœba. Should they come
in contact with a particle of suitable food-material, they immediately
surround it, and rapidly retracting, draw the particle to the surface of
the body. The threads then completely envelop the food, coalescing as
soon as they touch, thus bringing it within the animal.

Fig. 58.—Section of the

Shell of a Compound
Foraminifer

Fig. 57.—The same Foraminifer (Fig. 56)

as seen when alive
The foraminifer multiplies by fission, or by a process of budding. In
some species the division of the protoplasm is complete, as in the case
of amœbæ, so that each animal has its own shell which encloses a
single chamber, but in most cases the ‘bud’ remains attached to a
parent cell, and develops a shell that is also fixed to the shell of its
progenitor. The younger animal thus produced from the bud gives rise
to another, which develops in the same manner; and this process
continues, the new bud being always produced on the newest end, till,
at last, a kind of colony of protozoons is formed, their shells remaining
attached to one another, thus producing a compound shell, composed of
several chambers, arranged in the form of a line or spiral, and
communicating by means of their perforated partitions. It will now be
seen that each ‘cell’ of the compound protozoon feeds not only for itself,
but for all the members of its colony, since the nourishment imbibed by
any one is capable of diffusion into the surrounding chambers, the
protoplasm of the whole forming one continuous mass by means of the
perforated partitions of the complex skeleton.
Some of the simplest foraminifers possess
only one hole in the shell, and,
consequently, are enabled to throw off
pseudopods from one side of the body
only. In others, of a much more complex
nature, the new chambers form a spiral in
such a manner that they overlap and
entirely conceal those previously built; and
the development may proceed until a
comparatively large discoid shell is the
result. This is the case with Nummulites, so
Fig. 59.—Section of a called on account of the fancied
Nummulite Shell resemblance to coins. Further, some
species of foraminifera produce a skeleton
that is horny in character, instead of being calcareous, while others are
protected merely by grains of sand or particles of other solid matter that
adhere to the surface of their glutinous bodies.
We have spoken of foraminifera as floating freely about in the sea
water, but while it is certain that many of them live at or near the
 surface, some are known to thrive at
considerable depths; and those who desire
to study the various forms of these
interesting creatures should search among
dredgings whenever an opportunity occurs.
Living specimens, whenever obtained,
should be examined in sea water, in order
that the motions of their pseudopods may
be seen.
If we brush off fragments from the surface
Fig. 60.—Globigerina of a freshly broken piece of chalk, and
bulloides, as seen when allow them to fall into a vessel of water,
alive, magnified
and then examine the sediment under the
microscope, we shall observe that this
sediment consists of minute shells, and fragments of shells, of
foraminifers. In fact, our chalk beds, as well as the beds of certain
limestones, consist mainly of vast deposits of the shells of extinct
foraminifera that at one time covered the floor of the sea. Such deposits
are still being formed, notably that which now covers a vast area of the
bed of the Atlantic Ocean at a depth varying from about 300 to 3,000
fathoms. This deposit consists mainly of the shells of a foraminifer
called Globigerina bulloides, a figure of which is given on the opposite
page.
 Fig. 61.—Section of a piece of Nummulitic Limestone

The structure of chalk may be beautifully revealed by soaking a small

piece of the rock for some time in a solution of Canada balsam, allowing
it to become thoroughly dry, and then grinding it down till a very thin
section is obtained. Such a section, when viewed under the low power
of a compound microscope, will be seen to consist very largely of
minute shells; though, of course, the shells themselves will be seen in
section only.
The extensive beds of nummulitic limestones found in various parts of
South Europe and North Africa are also composed largely of foraminifer
shells, the most conspicuous of which are those already referred to as
nummulites—disc-shaped shells of a spiral form, in which the older
chambers overlap and hide those that enclose the earlier portion of the
colony.
Before concluding our brief account of these interesting marine
protozoons, it may be well to point out that, although the foraminifera
belong to the lowest class of the lowest sub-kingdom of animals, yet
there are some rhizopods—the Monera, which are even simpler in
structure. These are mere specks of undifferentiated protoplasm, not
protected by any shell, and not even possessing a nucleus, and are the
simplest of all animal beings.
The second division of the Protozoa—the class Protoplasta—has already
received a small share of attention, inasmuch as the amœba, which was
briefly described as a type of the whole sub-kingdom, belongs to it.
The study of the amœba is usually pursued by means of specimens
obtained from fresh-water pools, and reference has been made to it in a
former work dealing particularly with the life of ponds and streams; but
it should be observed that the amœba inhabits salt water also, and will
be frequently met with by those who search for the microscopic life of
the sea, especially when the water examined has been taken from those
sheltered nooks of a rocky coast that are protected from the direct
action of the waves, or from the little pools that are so far from the
reach of the tides as to be only occasionally disturbed. Here the amœba
may be seen creeping slowly over the slender green threads of the
confervæ that surround the margin of the pool.
The third class—Radiolaria—is of great interest to the student of marine
life, on account of the great beauty of the shells; but, as with the other
members of this sub-kingdom, a compound microscope is necessary for
the study of them.
The animals of this group resemble the foraminifers in that they throw
out fine thread-like pseudopods, but they are distinguished from them
by the possession of a membranous capsule in the centre of the body,
surrounding the nucleus, and perforated in order to preserve the
continuity of the deeper with the surrounding protoplasm. They have
often a central contractile cavity, and further show their claim to a
higher position in the animal scale than the preceding classes by the
possession of little masses of cells and a certain amount of fatty and
colouring matter.
 Fig. 62.—A Group of Radiolarian Shells, magnified

Some of the radiolarians live at or near the surface of the ocean, while
others thrive only at the bottom. The former, in some cases, appear to
avoid the light, rising to the surface after sunset; and it is supposed that
the phosphorescence of the sea is due in part to the presence of these
animals. The latter may be obtained from all depths, down to several
thousand fathoms.
The beauty of the radiolarians as a class lies in the wonderful shells that
protect the great majority of them. These shells are composed not of
carbonate of lime, as is the case with foraminifers, but of silex or silica,
a substance that is not acted on by the strongest mineral acids. They
are of the most exquisite shapes, and exhibit a great variety of forms.
Some resemble beautifully sculptured spheres, boxes, bells, cups, &c.;
while others may be likened to baskets of various ornamental design. In
every case the siliceous framework consists of a number of clusters of
radiating rods, all united by slender intertwining threads.
It is not all the radiolarians, however, that produce these beautiful
siliceous shells. A few have no skeleton of any kind, while others are
supported by a framework composed of a horny material, but yet
transparent and glassy in appearance.
The sizes of the shells vary from about one five-hundredth to one half
of an inch; but, of course, the larger shells are those of colonies of
radiolarians, and not of single individuals, just as we observed was the
case with the foraminifers.
Those in search of radiolaria for examination and study should,
whenever possible, obtain small quantities of the dredgings from deep
water. Material brought up by the trawl will often afford specimens; but,
failing these sources of supply, the muddy deposit from deep niches
between the rocks at low-water mark will often provide a very
interesting variety.
Place the mud in a glass vessel, and pour on it some nitric acid (aqua-
fortis). This will soon dissolve all calcareous matter present, and also
destroy any organic material. A process of very careful washing is now
necessary. Fill up the vessel with water, and allow some time for
sedimentary matter to settle. Now decant off the greater part of the
water, and repeat the process several times. By this means we get rid of
the greater part of the organic material, as well as of the mineral matter
that has been attacked by the acid; and if we examine the final
sediment under the microscope, preferably in a drop of water, and
covered with a cover-glass, any radiolarians present will soon reveal
themselves.
It is often possible to obtain radiolarian shells, as well as other siliceous
skeletons, through the agency of certain marine animals. The bivalve
molluscs, for example, feed almost entirely on microscopic organisms;
and, by removing such animals from their shells, and then destroying
their bodies with aqua-fortis, we may frequently obtain a sediment
composed partly of the skeletons referred to.
There remains one other class of protozoons to be considered, viz. the
Infusorians—the highest class of the sub-kingdom. In this group we
observe a distinct advance in organisation; for, in the first place, the
infusorians are enclosed in a firm cuticle or skin, which forms an almost
complete protective layer. Within this is a layer of moderately firm
protoplasm, containing one or more cavities that contract at intervals
like a heart. Then, in the interior, there is a mass of softer material with
cavities filled with fluid, two solid bodies, and numerous granules.
In these creatures we find, too, a distinct and
permanent mouth, usually funnel-shaped,
leading to the soft, interior substance, in which
the food material becomes embedded while
the process of digestion proceeds. Here, then,
for the first time, we meet with a special
portion of the body set apart for the
performance of the work of a stomach; and,
further, the process of digestion being over, Fig. 63.—Three
the indigestible matter is ejected through a Infusorians magnified
second permanent opening in the exterior
cuticle.
Again, the infusorian does not move by means of temporary
pseudopods, as is the case with the lower protozoons, but by means of
minute hair-like processes which permanently cover either the whole of
the body, or are restricted to certain portions only. These little
processes, which are called cilia, move to and fro with such rapidity that
they are hardly visible; and, by means of them the little infusorian is
enabled to move about in its watery home with considerable speed.
In some species a few of the cilia are much larger than the others, and
formed of a firmer material. These often serve the purpose of feet, and
are also used as a means by which the little animal can anchor itself to
solid substances.
As with the lower protozoons, the infusoria multiply by division; but, in
addition to this, the nucleus may sometimes be seen to divide up into a
number of minute egg-like bodies, each of which, when set free, is
capable of developing into a new animal. Should the water in which
infusorians have been living evaporate to dryness, the little bodies just
mentioned become so many dust particles that may be carried away by
air currents; but, although dry, they retain their vitality, and develop
almost immediately on being carried into a suitable environment.
Infusorians are so called because they develop rapidly in infusions of
various vegetable substances; and those who desire to study their
structure and movements with the aid of a microscope cannot do much
better than make an infusion by pouring boiling water on fragments of
dried grass, and leaving it exposed for a few days to the warm summer
atmosphere. The numerous germs floating in the air will soon give rise
to abundance of life, including several different species of infusoria,
varying from 1/30 to 1/2000 of an inch in length.
Fresh-water pools and marshes provide such
an abundance of infusoria that the animals are
generally obtained for study from these
sources, and a few of the common and most
interesting species inhabiting fresh water have
already been described in a former work.
Nevertheless, the sea is abundantly supplied
Fig. 64.—A with representatives of the class, and it is
Phosphorescent Marine
certain that the beautiful phosphorescence
Infusorian (Noctiluca),
magnified
sometimes observed in the sea at night is in
part due to the presence of luminous infusoria,
some of which appear to have an aversion to sunlight, retiring to a
depth during the day, but rising to the surface again after sunset.
 CHAPTER VIII
BRITISH SPONGES

It seems to be the popular opinion that sponges are essentially natives

of the warmer seas, and it will probably be a surprise to many young
amateur naturalists to learn that there are about three hundred species
of this sub-kingdom of the animal world to be found on our own shores.
It must not be thought, however, that they are all comparable with the
well-known toilet sponges in regard to either size or general form and
structure, for some of them are very small objects, no larger than about
one-twentieth of an inch in diameter, and some form mere incrustations
of various dimensions on the surfaces of rocks and weeds, often of such
general appearance that they would hardly be regarded as animal
structures by those who have not studied the peculiarities of the group.
Sponges are known collectively as the Porifera or Polystomata, and
constitute a separate sub-kingdom of animals of such distinct features
that they are not readily confused with the creatures of any other
group. Their principal characteristic is expressed by both the group
names just given, the former of which signifies ‘hole-bearing,’ and the
latter ‘many openings’; for in all the members of the sub-kingdom there
are a number of holes or pores providing a means of communication
between the body cavity or cavities and the surrounding water. Most of
these holes are very small, but there is always at least one opening of a
larger size at the anterior end.
It will be seen from what we have just stated that sponges exhibit a
distinctly higher organisation than the protozoa described in the last
chapter, inasmuch as they possess a permanent body-cavity that
communicates with the exterior; but in addition to this there are many
points of differentiation of structure that denote a superior position in
the scale of life.
In order to ascertain the general features of a sponge we cannot do
better than select one of the simplest forms from our own shores. If we
place the live animal in a glass vessel of sea water, and examine it with
a suitable magnifying power, we observe a number of minute pores
scattered over its whole surface; and a much larger opening at the free
end. The animal is motionless, and exhibits no signs of life except that it
may contract slightly when touched. The water surrounding the sponge
also appears to be perfectly still, but if we introduce some fine insoluble
powder, such as precipitated chalk, or a drop of a soluble dye, the
motion of the suspended or soluble material will show that the water is
passing into the sponge through all the small pores, and that it is
ejected through the larger opening.
On touching the sponge we observe that it is
of a soft, gelatinous consistence throughout,
or if, as is often the case, the body is
supported by a skeleton of greater or less
firmness, a gentle application of the finger will
still show that this framework is surrounded by
material of a jelly-like nature. This gelatinous
substance is the animal itself, and a
microscopic examination will show that its
body-wall is made up of two distinct layers,
the inner consisting of cells, many of which
possess a cilium or whip-like filament that
protrudes from a kind of collar, its free
extremity extending into the body-cavity.
These minute cilia are the means by which the
Fig. 65.—Section of a water currents just described are set up. By a
Simple Sponge constant lashing movement they urge the fluid
contained in the body-cavity towards the
larger hole, thus causing the water to flow in through the numerous
small pores. This circulation of sea water through the body-cavity of the
sponge is the means by which the animal is supplied with air and food.
Air is, of course, absorbed from the water by the soft material of the
external layer of the body, but the constant flow of fresh water through
the body-cavity enables this process of respiration to go on with equal
freedom in the interior. The mode of feeding of the sponge is very
similar to that of the protozoa. Organic particles that are carried into the
body-cavity, on coming in contact with the cells of the internal layer, are
absorbed into their protoplasm by which they are digested. Thus the
sponge may be compared to a mass of protozoon cells, all united into a
common colony by a more or less perfect coalescing of the cell-
substance, some of the units being modified in structure for the
performance of definite functions. The air and food absorbed by any
one cell may pass readily into the surrounding cells, and thus each one
may be said to work for the common weal.

Fig. 66.—Diagrammatic section of a portion of a Complex Sponge

The description just given applies only to the simplest of the sponges,
and we have now to learn that in the higher members of the group the
structure is much more complicated. In these the surface-pores are the
extremities of very narrow tubes which perforate both layers of the
body-wall and then communicate with wider tubes or spaces within,
some of which are lined with the ciliated cells above described. These
spaces, which are sometimes nearly globular in form, and often
arranged in groups with a common cavity, communicate with wider
tubes which join together until, finally, they terminate in a large opening
seen on the exterior of the sponge. Hence it will be seen that the water
entering the minute pores of the surface has to circulate through a
complicated system of channels and spaces, some of which are lined
with the ciliated cells that urge the current onwards before it is expelled
through the large hole. Further, imagine a number of such structures as
we have described growing side by side, their masses coalescing into
one whole, their inner tubes and spaces united into one complex system
by numerous inter-communications, and having several large holes for
the exit of the circulating water, and you then have some idea of the
general nature of many of the more complex sponges to be found on
our shores (see fig. 66).
But even this is not all, for as yet we
have been regarding the sponges as
consisting of animal matter only,
whereas nearly all of them possess
some kind of internal skeleton for the
support of the soft, gelatinous animal
substance. The skeleton consists of
matter secreted by certain cells from
material in the water and food, and is
either horny, calcareous, or siliceous.
The horny skeleton is formed of a
Fig. 67.—Horny Network of a network of fibres of a somewhat silky
Sponge, magnified character, and often, as in the case of
the toilet sponges, highly elastic; but it
is sometimes so brittle that the sponge mass is easily broken when
bent. The fibres of this framework support not only the outer wall of the
sponge, but also the walls of all the internal tubes and spaces, which
are often of so soft a nature that they would collapse without its aid.
The other forms of skeletons consist of minute bodies of carbonate of
lime or of silica, respectively, which assume certain definite shapes,
resembling stars, anchors, hooks, pins, spindles, &c., and are known as
spicules. Such spicules are usually present in those sponges that have
horny skeletons, but in others they form the entire skeleton.
Sponges sometimes increase by division, a part being separated from
the parent mass and then developing into a complete colony; and they
may be reproduced artificially to almost any extent by this method, each
piece cut off, however small, producing a new sponge. They also
increase by a process of ‘budding,’ the buds produced sometimes
remaining attached to the original colony, thus increasing its size, but on
other occasions becoming detached for the formation of new colonies
on a different site. In addition to these methods of reproduction there
are special cells in a sponge that possess the function of producing eggs
which are ejected through the larger holes. The eggs are usually
developed in the autumn, and, after being ejected, swim about freely
for a time, after which they become fixed to rocks or weeds, and
produce sponges in the following year. The eggs may often be seen
towards the end of the summer by cutting through a sponge, or by
carefully pulling it asunder. They are little rounded or oval bodies, of a
yellowish or brownish colour, distinctly visible to the naked eye,
occupying cavities in the interior.
Sponges are classified according to the composition of the skeleton and
the forms of the spicules, the chief divisions being:—
1. The Calcareous Sponges (Calcarea). Skeleton consisting of spicules
of carbonate of lime in the form of needles and three-or four-
rayed stars.
2. The Six-Rayed Sponges (Hexactinellida). Skeleton of six-rayed glassy
spicules.
3. Common Sponges (Demospongia). Skeleton horny, flinty, or entirely
absent.
The first of these divisions contains about a dozen known British
species, which are to be found on the rockiest shores, attached to
stones, weeds, or shells, generally hidden in very secluded holes or
crevices, or sheltered from the light by the pendulous weeds. They
should be searched for at the lowest spring tide, particular attention
being given to the under surfaces of large stones, narrow, dark crevices,
and the roofs of small, sheltered caves. They may be readily recognised
as sponges by the numerous pores on the surface, though these are
often hardly visible without a lens, and the calcareous nature of the
skeleton may be proved by dropping a specimen into dilute hydrochloric
acid, when the carbonate of lime will speedily dissolve, the action being
accompanied by the evolution of bubbles of carbonic acid gas.
If calcareous sponges are to be preserved for future reference, they
may be placed in diluted spirit, in which case the animal matter, as well
as the mineral substance, will be preserved with but little alteration in
the natural appearance and structure. A specimen which has been
decalcified by means of acid, as above described, may also be
preserved in the same manner; and small portions of this will serve for
the microscopic study of the animal portion of the sponge. If the
skeleton only is required, the sponge is simply allowed to dry, when the
soft animal substance, on losing its contained water, will leave hardly
any residue; or, better, allow the calcareous sponge to macerate in
water for some days for the animal substance to decompose, and then,
after a few minutes in running water, set it aside to dry.

Fig. 68.—Grantia compressa

Fig. 69.—Spicules of
Grantia, magnified

Small portions of the skeleton, examined under the microscope, will

show the nature of the calcareous spicules of which it is composed.
These consist of minute needles and stars, the latter having generally
either three or four rays.
We give figures of three of the calcareous sponges of our shores, the
first of which (Grantia compressa) resembles little oval, flattened bags,
which hang pendulous from rocks and weeds, sometimes solitary, but
often in clusters. The smaller openings are thickly scattered over the flat
sides of the bag, and the larger ones, through which the water is
expelled, around the margin. When the sponge is out of the water and
inactive, the two opposite sides of the bag are practically in contact,
but, when active, the cavity is filled with water by means of the whip-
cells that line it, and the sides of the sponge are then more or less
convex.
The ciliated sycon (Sycon ciliatum), fig. 70,
though of a very different appearance
externally, is similar in structure to Grantia. It
is also found in similar situations, and is not
uncommon on many parts of the South Coast,
from Weymouth westwards. The other
example, Leucosolenia botryoides, shown in
fig. 71, is a branching calcareous sponge,
consisting of a number of tubes, all united to
form one common cavity which is lined
throughout with whip-cells. It is usually found
attached to weeds.
Fig. 70.—Sycon
ciliatum

Fig. 71.—Leucosolenia botryoides, with portion magnified

Nearly all our British sponges belong to the group Demospongia—

common sponges; but the members of this group present a great
variety of form and structure. Most of them have a skeleton consisting
of siliceous spicules, but some have a horny skeleton, somewhat after
the nature of that of the toilet sponges; and others, again, have fleshy
bodies entirely, or almost entirely, unsupported by harder structures.
They are sometimes known collectively as the Silicia, for the greater
number of them have skeletons consisting exclusively of siliceous
matter, while the so-called horny sponges usually have spicules of silica
intermingled with the horny substance, and even those which are
described as having no skeleton at all sometimes contain scattered
spicules of silex.
As the spicules of sponges are in themselves
beautiful objects, and are important to the
naturalist, inasmuch as they form a basis for
the classification of sponges, it is well to know
by what means they may be separated from
the animal for microscopic examination. The
separation is based on the fact that nitric acid
(aqua-fortis) will destroy organic matter while
it has not the slightest action on silica. In
some of our common horny sponges the fibres
are so transparent that, when teased out and
placed under the microscope, the siliceous
spicules may be seen embedded within them,
but the spicules, both in these and the fleshy
sponges, may be separated completely from
the animal matter by putting a fragment of the
Fig. 72.—Chalina sponge in a test-tube, covering it with nitric
oculata
acid, and boiling it for a short time. The tube
should then be filled up with water and
allowed to stand undisturbed for a time, after which the liquid is poured
off gently from the sediment. If the sediment is then put under the
microscope on a slip of glass, it will be seen to consist of grains of sand,
of which there is always a considerable amount in the pores and cavities
of a sponge, and the siliceous spicules.
Among the common objects of the sea shore is the horny skeleton of
the sponge Chalina oculata, which is frequently washed on the beach by
the waves, especially after storms. This sponge is not likely to be seen
between the tide-marks except at the lowest spring tide, when it may
be found suspended in a sheltered crevice or cave. The skeleton
consists of a fine network of horny fibres, in the centre of which lie the
spicules, imbedded in the horny material. The spicules are short and
straight, tapering at both ends.

Fig. 73.—Halichondria panicea

The Bread-crumb sponge (Halichondria panicea) is even more common,

for it is to be found on every rocky coast, encrusting weeds and rocks,
often considerably above low-water mark. It is of a yellowish or pale
greenish colour, and forms an incrustation varying in thickness from
one-twentieth of an inch to half an inch or more; and, like most
sponges, should be looked for in narrow crevices, under heavy growths
of weeds, or in other situations where it is protected from the light.
Sometimes its free surface is unbroken, except, of course, by the
minute pores, and, here and there, the larger openings that serve for
the outgoing currents; but when it is found encrusting a rock in patches
of considerable size, the larger holes all occupy the summit of a little
cone resembling a miniature volcano with its crater. This sponge is
easily removed from the rock with the aid of a blunt broad-bladed knife,
and retains its natural appearance to perfection if preserved in
methylated spirit. Its horny skeleton is of a very compact nature, and
the spicules are minute siliceous needles pointed at both ends.
 Rambling on the sea beach we frequently
meet with old oyster and other shells
perforated by a number of circular holes about
the size of a pin’s head or less, and chalk and
limestone rocks also are seen similarly bored.
On breaking into or grinding down the
substance we find that the openings are the
ends of channels that form a network of canals
and chambers, some of which are so near the
Fig. 74.—Spicules of surface that they are covered by an
Halichondria, magnified exceedingly thin layer of the calcareous
substance. These canals and chambers form
the home of the Boring Sponge (Cliona), which, although a very soft-
bodied animal, has itself excavated them.

Fig. 75.—An Oyster Shell bored by Cliona

The manner in which the Cliona excavates such a complicated system of

passages in so hard a material has naturally raised a considerable
amount of curiosity, and those who have studied the matter are divided
in opinion as to whether the work is done by chemical or by mechanical
action.
Some of those who advocate the chemical theory suppose that an acid
fluid is secreted by the sponge, and that the carbonate of lime forming
the shell or stone is thereby dissolved; but such advocates have, as yet,
failed to detect the presence of any acid substance in the body of the
animal. Others ascribe the action to the solvent power of carbonic acid
gas. This gas certainly has the power of dissolving carbonate of lime, as
may be proved by a very simple experiment: Pour a little lime water into
a glass, and blow into it through a glass tube. The lime water speedily
becomes milky in appearance, the lime having been converted into
particles of chalk or carbonate of lime by union with the carbonic acid
gas from the lungs. Continue to blow into the liquid for some time, and
the carbonate of lime will slowly disappear, being gradually dissolved by
the excess of the gas—the gas over and above that required for the
formation of the carbonate. Thus, it has been said, the carbonic acid
gas evolved as a product of the respiration of the sponge is the agent
by which the channels are excavated. Whatever be the acid to which
this power is ascribed, whether it be the carbonic acid or a special acid
fluid secreted for the purpose, there is still this difficulty in the way of
accepting the theory, namely, that an acid, though it has the power of
dissolving the mineral matter of a shell—the carbonate of lime—has no
action on the laminæ of animal substance that form part of the
structure. If we put the shell of a mollusc in hydrochloric or dilute nitric
acid, we obtain, after the complete solution of the carbonate of lime, a
substantial residue of animal matter which the acid does not touch, but
in the case of Cliona both animal and mineral substances yield to its
power.
Those who favour the mechanical theory
assert that the material is worn away by
siliceous particles developed by the sponge,
and kept in constant motion as long as the
animal lives; and the theory is supported by
the statement that, in addition to the spicules
of silica, which are pin-shaped, and occupy the
interior of the animal, there are little siliceous Fig. 76.—Spicules of
granules scattered on the surface of the Cliona
sponge which are kept in constant motion
resembling that of cilia; and the minute particles of carbonate of lime
that form a dusty deposit within the galleries are supposed to be the
product of the rasping or drilling action of these granules.
The pin-shaped spicules of Cliona may be obtained for microscopic
examination by breaking any old oyster shell that has formed its home,
and brushing out the dust from the galleries; or, a part of the shell may
be dissolved in acid, and the sediment examined for spicules on a slip of
glass.
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