But again the official efforts were weak, and thwarted in places by hunters who wanted to keep rabbits going for sport or pot. And there was also animal rights concerns, which finally led to a weak and almost totally unenforced law forbidding the deliberate spread of the disease. Plus defeat was probably made inevitable by the sheer tenacity of the species. As Bartrip points out, "in favourable conditions does can produce litters of five, six or more at intervals of a month or so...if left undisturbed for three years, the progeny of one pair of rabbits would amount to no fewer than 13,000,000." (Although Bartrip says, a fierce form of natural selection meant the nature of the British rabbit change, in favour of those who chose to live a more solitary life, aboveground.) And soon the virus mutated to a weaker form - in its own interests, of course, since this way it could continue to survive.
But there was nonetheless a collapse in the population, and Bartrip explores the ecological effects, "short-term increases in the height, coverage and variety of grasses and other plants. It also allowed more flowering and seeding, thereby facilitation plant succession. ...Cowslips, rockroses and other plants bloomed spectacularly... Rare orchids also flourished locally." He also records woodland regeneration where seedlings had previously been nibbled down, which sometimes turned heath and downland to thicket.
There's an obvious parallel here with modern animal disease crises, from BSE to foot and mouth. But the media interest by modern standards was almost non-existent, this was seen as fundamentally a "natural" issue, so, Bartrip says this is a comparison that shouldn't be taken too far.
There's something of "a small earthquake in Chile, not many dead" about the whole story, but as an insight into 50s Britain, its agricultural and official communities, and its ecological balance, there is something worth perusing here.
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