Vintage Dinosaur Art: Fossil Amphibians and Reptiles

Last month I reviewed A Guide to Earth History, our first foray into the world of Maurice Wilson’s illustrations in quite some time. At the end of said article, I asked readers (we still have them!) to let me know where I might find more Wilson excellence, and Alexander Guridov duly answered – by sending me scans of Fossil Amphibians and Reptiles, first published “BY ORDER OF THE TRUSTEES OF THE BRITISH MUSEUM (NATURAL HISTORY)” in 1954, with this second edition arriving in 1958. Not only does it contain artwork by Wilson, but it also provides “a conspectus of the subject which can not only be used by the visitor in the galleries but perused at leisure subsequently”! Sounds like a right old laugh – let’s, as they say, dive in!

I must admit that I don’t have all of the text, for this is a rare instance in which I’ve been sent selected scans of someone else’s book, but it would appear to be a roller coaster ride quite typical of William Elgin Swinton, whose ideas on dinosaur biology didn’t age at all well, and will likely best be known around these parts for the oft-reprinted Dinosaurs (from the British Museum (Natural History)). What seems most peculiar in these post-Dino Renaissance times is the way that Swinton seemed to loathe his specialist subject, but then such were the times; reptiles were inferior, and that was that. The cover of this edition is sadly not by Wilson, but by the apparently uncredited “A Weber” – the preface mentions a cover by Anthony Whishaw, while the 2nd edition preface-to-the-preface mentions that the changed cover “reflects the taste of those responsible” without naming the artist. Boo! If you happen to know who A Weber was, please leave a comment. That Iguanodon is very Neave Parker-like.

Happily, one need not venture any further than the frontispiece to run into Wilson’s work, which happens to be an illustration of Dimorphodon chasing insects over a sunny archipelago. It’s particularly beautiful for the time in not making the Dimorphodon a monstrous aberration, a reptilian mockery of a bird with wrinkled skin and jutting teeth, but rather an entirely naturalistic-looking creature. Hell, it’s actually better than a lot of the Dimorphodon we’ve seen in far more recent pop culture (yes, I do mean Jurassic World). It’s a piece that really emphasises the sheer elegance of so much of Wilson’s work; the soft lines of the animal, the delicacy of the fern fronds and overhead branches, the incidental details of the environment.

Sadly, the illustrations inside the book are, once again, in black and white. Let’s start with one of the least impressive, an extremely Neave Parkerish take on Megalosaurus. It’s worth contrasting this with Wilson’s 1970s take from the Brooke Bond album to see just how much he paid attention and moved with the times; the version given away with teabags is far more modern-looking with its S-shaped neck, alert posture, and tail projecting upwards at the tip. All the same, Wilson’s take on the Big Lizard appears more sprightly than Parker’s, with at least one foot off the ground and brandished claws. Wilson did like to show theropods brandishing their claws.

In a similar vein, here’s Megalosaurus‘ contemporary Cetiosaurus looking somewhat Parkeresque, but simultaneously a little more muscular and alert, even if it still has a dragging tail and an affinity for floodplains. (It’d be right at home in the England of February 2026.) The background is again a little sparse, consisting mostly of a marshy expanse, but closer inspection reveals a number of quite lovely details, the least of which is the sauropod’s distorted reflection. The details on the sauropod’s skin are also superbly executed, giving us an impression of gleaming, scaly skin without resorting to excessive, overly-fussy detailing. This piece does remind me of a somewhat bleak family holiday on the Norfolk Broads in 2007, though. The greyscale doesn’t help.

Good old Iguanodon is given a rather more interesting background to stand against, and while it at first glance appears to be a tail-dragging thumbs-up tripod typical of the era, closer inspection is again rewarding; note the robust forelimbs and, in particular, the large, flattened, hoof-like claws on the second and third fingers. Wilson was definitely paying attention, far more so than most of his contemporaries. The surrounding foliage is very beautiful, too. It all does make me wish that I could have a conversation with him, but, sadly, he’s long gone.

Perhaps my favourite of the dinosaur illustrations that Wilson provides for this book is the Polacanthus. It’s absolutely beautifully detailed, with a gorgeous variety of scalation, ranging from the expected mosaic scales on the legs to more pointed, feature scales on the head and neck and round tubercles scattered over the body. The osteoderms, too, transition beautifully from a dark grey to white, looking exactly as one would imagine they might on the living animal. Again, there is an exquisite attention to detail that perhaps hints that Wilson wasn’t approaching his subjects with any kind of prejudice, but wanted to be honest about what the fossils showed – the animal even appears to have a beak. The foliage caught in the spines is a great touch, and I needn’t mention how wonderful the background is.

It’s not all dinosaurs, of course – there are those pesky otherfossilreptiles (and amphibians) to consider. And because it’s the 1950s, that includes synapsids like Cynognathus, as seen above. Once again, my first impression of this illustration was how amazingly naturalistic it appeared for the 1950s. This might not be how you’d restore the animal today, but it absolutely hangs together as a completely convincing-looking living creature. Admittedly, the degree to which it’s clearly based on monitor lizards probably helps. Still, the scaly detail on the face, in particular, is quite lovely. And look, there’s blood dripping down from the tiny creature that Cynognathus has managed to capture. That’s almost as violent as Wilson gets.

Marine reptiles show up too, of course, with Macroplata representing the plesiosaurs, which is a bit of a surprise. Not that I’m an expert on these things, but this would appear to be a very decent illustration for 1950. Macroplata didn’t have that long of a neck, and the head is recognisably plesiosaurian, even if certain details would be changed today. There’s even a hint of a compressed vertical tail fin, which would be remarkably prescient if intentional. (I’m not imagining it, right?) In all, another beautifully realised illustration. Just look into that eye. That creature’s alive.

And finally…not an illustration by Wilson, but a photo of some Hypsilophodon models that I’m sure we’ve featured before, and certainly popped up repeatedly in my childhood dinosaur books (under the ‘wrong-headed ideas of the past’ section). But, who sculpted them? I want to know! They resemble an illustration of a tree-dwelling Hypsilophodon by Neave Parker, and I’m not sure which came first. Their knobbly skin would also appear to have influenced later, more cursorial reconstructions by the likes of Peter Snowball. Presumably, the NHM still has these models somewhere in their vast collections. I’d pay good money to see ’em. Just saying.

Coming up next time: nothing remotely as worthy!