W. H. R. Rivers

File:Whr rivers sml.png

Photograph of W.H.R. Rivers

William Halse Rivers Rivers M.D.(Lond.), F.R.C.P.(Lond.), F.R.S., Medical Officer, Craiglockhart War Hospital (March 12, 1864 - 4 June, 1922) was an English anthropologist, neurologist, ethnologist and psychiatrist, best known for his work with shell-shocked soldiers during World War I. Rivers' most famous patient was the poet Siegfried Sassoon. He is also famous for his participation in the Torres Straits expedition of 1898, and his consequent seminal work on the subject of kinship.

Biography

Pre-War

Rivers was born in 1864 in Luton, near Chatham, Kent, son of Elizabeth Hunt and Henry Fredrick Rivers, an Anglican priest and speech therapist who treated Lewis Carroll among others. The oldest of four children (siblings were Charles Hay Rivers, born in 1865, Ethel Marion Rivers, born in 1867 and Katharine Elizabeth Rivers, born in 1871) William (or 'Willie' as he was called throughout his childhood) took his name from his uncle 'William Rivers' who, according to family tradition, had been the man who shot the man who had fatally wounded Lord Nelson. It is unclear where the 'Halse' part of his name originated- although it has been suggested that it could have been the name of someone serving along side his uncle. It is probable that the second 'Rivers' entered his name as a result of a clerical error which occurred due to a mix up between his surname and place of birth.

Rivers suffered from a stammer that never truly left him, he also had no visual memory. As Rivers stated in Chapter II of his book 'Instinct and the Unconscious':

I am one of those persons whose normal waking life is almost wholly free from sensory imagery, either visual, auditory, tactile or of any other kind. Through the experience of dreams, of the half-waking, half-sleeping state, and of slight delirium in fever, I am quite familiar with imagery, especially of a visual kind, which, so far as I can tell, corresponds with that of the normal experience of others.I am able to recognise also that in the fully waking state I have imagery of the same order, but in general it is so faint and fragmentary that the closest scrutiny is required for its detection. It is clear to me that if it were not for my special knowledge and interest I should be wholly ignorant of its existence. On looking back in my life I am aware that my mental imagery was more definite in youth, and I can remember the presence at that period of fairly vivid visual imagery in connection with certain kinds of experience, especially of an emotional kind.

Pat Barker, in the third novel in her Regeneration Trilogy, ''The Ghost Road'' suggests a reason for these problems but Rivers himself, although he may have had some idea of the causes, does not appear to cite them fully in his writings. However, in 'Instinct and the Unconscious' he also states that he had at least begun to realise the cause:

Some years ago, as part of an examination into my memories of childhood, I discovered that I had a more definite knowledge of the topography of the house I left at the age of five than of any of the many houses I have lived in since. I can make a plan of that house far more detailed, based on memories clearer to myself, than I can make of houses in which I have lived far longer and at times of life when one might expect more permanent and vivid memories. Moreover, I can even now obtain visual images of the early house more clear and definite than any I usually experience, while other memories of my first five years bring with them imagery more definite than accompany the memories of later life. I have concluded, and I think I am justified in doing so, that before the age of five my visual imagery was far more definite than it became later and was perhaps as good as that of the average child.

For some time I explained the loss of imagery of which I am the subject as part of a process by which I had become especially interested in the abstract. I supposed that my imagery had faded for lack of the attention and interest which would have kept it active, even if they had not promoted its development into the instrument which imagery has become in the mental life of the majority of human beings. It is only during the last year or two that I have discovered an aspect of my early experience which has led me to revise this earlier opinion. This discovery is that my knowledge of the house I left when five years old is strictly limited to certain parts of it, and that the rest of the building is even more inaccessible to memory than any of the houses in which I have lived since. So far as I remember the house had three floors. I can remember, and even now image fairly vividly, every room, passage and doorway of the ground-floor. I can in imagination go downstairs into a kitchen in a basement and I can go upstairs towards the upper door, but when I reach the top of the stairs I come to the absolutely unknown, an unknown far more complete than is the case with any house occupied more recently, where I have some idea of the topography, though this is inexact and vague. For more than two years I have been attempting, by means which have succeeded in evoking other early experience, to penetrate into the mysterious unknown of the upper storey. Though I have recalled many incidents of my early life which took place on the ground-floor, in the basement, in the regions before and behind the house, no event of any kind which happened in the upper storey has ever come to my consciousness. Now and then, when in the half-waking, half-sleeping state, peculiarly favourable in my experience to the recovery of long-forgotten events, I have had the sense that something is there, lying very near emergence into consciousness. But I have not yet succeeded in penetrating the veil which separates me from all knowledge of my life in that upper storey.

The evidence for the existence of unconscious experience which is provided by these memories of my infancy is, of course, incomplete, in that I have not yet discovered the nature of the unconscious experience and have even no certain guarantee that it exists. The feature of the experience which impresses me -- I cannot expect it to have an equal influence on others -- is the completeness of the blank in my mind in connection with that upper storey. I fail to explain that blank by any mechanism provided by differences in the effect of interest on memory. A psychologist of the old school would probably say that we tend especially to remember the striking and unusual, and that it is therefore natural that my memories of the upper storey, where I probably passed most of my life at that time, should be less vivid than those of the lower parts of the house, which I visited less often. This might well explain a different degree of distinctness of memory, but it cannot explain the completeness of the blank left by the memories of the upper storey. Another line which might be taken is that, at any rate during the year before I left the house, I lived on the ground-floor during the day and only visited the upper floor at night when tired. But even if such a reason were valid, it cannot explain the completeness of the blank. Moreover, such explanations seem to be put out of court by the fact that when I recall memories of houses lived in later, I find no such difference between upper and lower storeys. Though my memories of later houses are more vague than the early memory, they are quite as definite for the upper as for the lower parts of the buildings.

However, these things did not seem to affect his academic performance. Educated at Tonbridge School, he was set to take his University of Cambridge entrance exam when he was struck down by typhoid fever and missed a year of school. Instead of Cambridge, Rivers studied medicine at St Bartholomew's Hospital in London, later developing an interest in psychology. He graduated aged just 22, the youngest person to do so until recent times.

After qualifying, Rivers sought to join the Royal Army Medical Corps but was barred due to ill health. Instead, his love of travelling lead him to serve several terms as a ship's surgeon. On one voyage, he spent a month in the company of George Bernard Shaw “many hours every day talking - the greatest treat of my life”. Back in England, he accepted a post at St John's College at the University of Cambridge (where he was later elected a fellow) and joined the university's expedition to the Torres Straits in 1898, subsequently carrying out extensive study of kinship in Melanesia. Despite his love of adventure and his obvious intellect, Rivers was still an extremely shy young man at this point:

In the Cambridge physiological laboratory he had to lecture to a large elementary class. He was rather nervous about it, and did not like it. This was partly owing to a hesitation of speech, which at times was quite embarrassing when he was speaking without notes. So he wrote out his lectures pretty fully... As a result many of his thoughts are preserved for us which would otherwise be lost

(L.E Shaw, physiologist friend of Rivers and his neighbour at St. John's for many years).

His experiences both at home and abroad increased his interests in the relationship between mind and body, and he played a fundamental role in the establishment of both experimental psychology and social anthropology as academic disciplines in Britain. He was made a fellow of the Royal Society in 1908 and won the Society's gold medal in 1914 (information obtained from Rivers fonds)

In the early 1900s, Rivers' embarked on one of his most famous experiments, carried out with (and on) his close friend Dr Henry Head to study the regeneration of nerve tissue. Incisions were made into Head's arm by Rivers, severing a nerve, and the two men observed the return of sensation over a period of five years. Although Rivers was the investigator in this experiment, he was survived by Head who came to publish their work and is, therefore, given a great deal of the credit that is, perhaps, due to Rivers. Rivers was to work closely with Henry again during the latter part of the war when he was appointed psychologist to the Royal Flying Corps, attached to the Central Hospital in Hampstead.

In 1904, with Professor James Ward and some others, Rivers founded the British Journal of Psychology of which he was at first joint editor.

From 1908 till the outbreak of the late war Dr. Rivers was mainly preoccupied with ethnological and sociological problems. Already he had relinquished his official post as Lecturer in Experimental Psychology in favour of Dr. Charles Samuel Myers, and now held only a lectureship on the physiology of the special senses. By degrees he became more absorbed in anthropological research. But though he was now ethnologist rather than psychologist he always maintained that what was of value in his work was due directly to his training in the psychological laboratory. In the laboratory he had learnt the importance of exact method; in the field he now gained vigor and vitality by his constant contact with the actual daily behaviour of human beings. In 1908 Rivers made his first journey to Melanesia. The material and interests which the voyage gave him occupied practically the whole of his attention until 1914, when his great work entitled "A History of Melanesian Society" was published. In that year he made a second journey to Melanesia, returning to England in March 1915, to find that war had broken out.

World War One

During the war, he worked as a RAMC captain at Craiglockhart War Hospital near Edinburgh, where he applied techniques of psychoanalysis to British officers suffering from various forms of neurosis brought on by their war experiences.

Rivers, by pursuing a course of humane treatment, had established two principles that would be embraced by American military psychiatrists in the next war. He had demonstrated, first, that men of unquestioned bravery could succumb to overwhelming fear and, second, that the most effective motivation to overcome that fear was something stronger than patriotism, abstract principles, or hatred of the enemy. It was the love of soldiers for one another.

Rivers' methods are often, somewhat unfairly, said to have stemmed from Sigmund Freud however, this is not truly the case. Although he was aware of Freud's theories and methods, he did not necessarily prescribe to them. While he 'admitted', as Myers describes, 'the conflict of social factors with the sexual instincts in certain psychoneuroses' of civilian life, he saw the instinct of self-preservation, and not the sexual instinct, as the driving force behind war neuroses. He, therefore, formed his 'talking cure' not on the basis that soldiers were repressing sexual urges but rather their feelings of fear pertaining to their war experiences. As such, he really is a pioneer in his field- both for his new methods and for the fact that he went against the grain of the beliefs of the time (Shell-Shock wasn't considered a 'real' illness and 'cures' mainly involved electric shocks) and against the grain of the society he too had been brought up in- he didn't advocate the usual 'stiff upper-lip' approach but rather told his patients to express their emotions.

Sassoon came to him in 1917 after publicly protesting against the war and refusing to return to his regiment, but was treated with sympathy and given much leeway until he voluntarily returned to France. For Rivers, there was a considerable dilemma involved in "curing" his patients simply in order that they could be sent back to the Western Front to die. As Sassoon wrote in a letter to Robert Graves whilst (24th July 1918):

O Rivers please take me. And make me
Go back to the war til it break me...

He did not wish to 'break' his patients but at the same time he knew that it was their duty to return to the front and his duty to send them. There is also an implication (given the pun on Rivers' name along with other factors) that Rivers was more to Sassoon that just a friend and, as he called him, 'father confessor', a point that Jean Moorcroft Wilson picks up on in her biography of Sassoon, however Rivers' tight morals would have probably prevented such a relationship from progressing:

Rivers’ uniform was not the only constraint in their relationship. He was almost certainly homosexual by inclination and it must quickly have become clear to him that Sassoon was too. Yet neither is likely to have referred to it, though we know that Sassoon was already finding his sexuality a problem. At the same time, as an experienced psychologist Rivers could reasonably expect Sassoon to experience ‘transference’ and become extremely fond of him. Paul Fussell suggests in The Great War and Modern Memory(ISBN 0195019180) that Rivers became the embodiment of the male ‘dream friend’ who had been the companion of Sassoon’s boyhood fantasies. Sassoon publicly acknowledged that ‘there was never any doubt about my liking [Rivers]. He made me feel safe at once, and seemed to know all about me’. But Sassoon’s description of the doctor in 'Sherston’s Progress', lingering as it does on Rivers’s warm smile and endearing habits- he often sat, spectacles pushed up on forehead, with his hands clasped around one knee- suggests that it was more than liking he felt. And privately he was rather franker, telling Marsh, whom he knew would understand, that he ‘loved [Rivers] at first sight.’

Not only Sassoon, but his patients as a whole, loved him and his colleague Frederic Bartlett wrote of him

Rivers was intolerant and sympathetic. He was once compared to Moses laying down the law. The comparison was an apt one, and one side of the truth. The other side of him was his sympathy. It was a sort of power of getting into another man's life and treating it as if it were his own. And yet all the time he made you feel that your life was your own to guide, and above everything that you could if you cared make something important out of it.

Sassoon described Rivers' bedside manner in his letter to Graves, written as he lay in hospital after being shot (a head wound that he had hoped would kill him- he was bitterly disappointed when it didn't):

But yesterday my reasoning Rivers ran solemnly in,
With peace in the pools of his spectacled eyes and a wisely omnipotent grin;
And I fished in that steady grey stream and decided that I
after all am no longer the Worm that refuses to die.

He was well known for his compassionate, effective and pioneering treatments; as Sassoon's testamony reveals, he treated his patients very much as individuals. Rivers published the results of his experimental treatment of patients at Craiglockhart in a The Lancet paper 'On the Repression of War Experience' and began to record interesting cases in his book 'Conflict and Dream' which was published a year after his death by his close friend Grafton Elliot Smith.

Post War

After the war, Rivers became "another and far happier man- diffidence gave place to confidence, reticence to outspokenness, a somewhat laboured literary style to one remarkable for ease and charm" (Myers 1922). He is quoted as saying

I have finished my serious work and I shall just let myself go.

In those post war years, his personality seemed to change dramatically. The man who had been most at home in his study, the laboratory, or the field now dined out a good deal, had joined clubs, went yachting and appeared to welcome rather than shun opportunities for public speaking. Always having been a voracious reader, he now began reading in philosophy, as he had not done for some years, and also in imaginative literature. Not all of his friends from former years welcomed these changes; some felt that, along with his shyness, his scientific caution and good sense may have deserted him to a degree but most people who saw how happy Rivers had become agreed that the slight alterations to his character were for the better. Rivers had visited his college frequently during the war although, having resigned his position as lecturer, he held no official post. However, upon his return from the Royal Flying Corps in 1919, the college created a new office for him- 'Praelector of Natural Science Studies'- and he was given a free rein to do as he pleased. As Leonard E. Shore recalled in 1923:

when I asked him if he would undertake that work... his eyes shone with a new light I had not seen before, and he paced his rooms for several minutes full of delight.

He took his new position to be a mandate to get to know every science student and indeed every other student at St. Johns and at other colleges. He would arrange 'At Homes' in his rooms on Sunday evenings, as well as Sunday morning breakfast meetings; he also organised informal discussions and formal lectures (many of which he gave himself) in the College Hall. He formed a group called The Socratics and brought to it some of his most influential friends, including H.G. Wells, Arnold Bennett, Bertrand Russell and Sassoon. Sassoon (Patient B in 'Conflict and Dream'), remained particularly friendly with Rivers and regarded him as a mentor. They shared Socialist sympathies.

Having already been made president of the anthropological section of the British Association for the Advancement of Science in 1911, after the war he became president of the Folk Law Society (1921), and the Royal Anthropological Institute (1921-1922). He was also awarded honorary degrees from the universities of Manchester and Cambridge in 1919.

Rivers died of a strangulated hernia in the summer of 1922, shortly after being named as a Labour candidate for the 1922 general election. He had been taken ill suddenly in his rooms at St. John's on the evening of Friday 4th June, having sent his servant home to enjoy the summer festivities. By the time he was found in the morning, it was too late and he died in the Evelyn Nursing Home following an unsuccessful emergency operation. Rivers had an extravagant funeral at St. John's in accordance with his wishes as he was an expert on funeral rites. Sassoon was deeply saddened by the death of his father figure and his loss prompted him to write two poignant poems about the man he had grown to love:

Poetry

To A Very Wise Man

I

FIRES in the dark you build; tall quivering flames
In the huge midnight forest of the unknown.
Your soul is full of cities with dead names,
And blind-faced, earth-bound gods of bronze and stone
Whose priests and kings and lust-begotten lords
Watch the procession of their thundering hosts,
Or guard relentless fanes with flickering swords
And wizardry of ghosts.

II

In a strange house I woke; heard overhead
Hastily-thudding feet and a muffled scream...
(Is death like that?) ... I quaked uncomforted,
Striving to frame to-morrow in a dream
Of woods and sliding pools and cloudless day.
(You know how bees come into a twilight room
From dazzling afternoon, then sail away
Out of the curtained gloom.)

III

You understand my thoughts; though, when you think,
You’re out beyond the boundaries of my brain.
I’m but a bird at dawn that cries ‘chink, chink’—
A garden-bird that warbles in the rain.
And you’re the flying-man, the speck that steers
A careful course far down the verge of day,
Half-way across the world. Above the years
You soar ... Is death so bad? ... I wish you’d say.

And perhaps most poignant of all...

Revisitation

(W.H.R.R)

What voice revisits me this night? What face
To my heart’s room returns?
From the perpetual silence where the grace
Of human sainthood burns
Hastes he once more to harmonise and heal?
I know not. Only I feel
His influence undiminished
And his life’s work, in me and many, unfinished.

O fathering friend and scientist of good,
Who in solitude, one bygone summer’s day,
And in the throes of bodily anguish, passed away
From dream and conflict and research-lit lands
Of ethnological learning, - even as you stood
Selfless and ardent, resolute and gay,
So in this hour, in strange survival stands
Your ghost, whom I am powerless to repay.

Lines omitted from final version of Revisitation

Deep in my morning time he made his mark
And still he comes uncalled to be my guide
In devastated regions
When the brain has lost its bearings in the dark
And broken in it’s body’s pride
In the long campaign to which it had sworn allegiance

The Red Ribbon Dream

In this poem, written by Robert Graves not long after Rivers' death, he touches on the peace and security he felt in Rivers' rooms:

For that was the place where I longed to be
And past all hope where the kind lamp shone.

These were not the first poems to be written about Rivers. The following poem (written anonymously, although there is a reference that indicates that these lines were written by Charles Elliot Fox, missionary and ethnographer friend of Rivers) can be found in the Rivers collection of the Haddon archives at Cambridge:

Anthropological Thoughts

The Doctor took his book in hand
His pen was in his finger
His foot was on a foreign strand-
But there I need not linger.

"Now how," said he, "if I may ask
About your cousin's mother
Would she attempt the simple task
Of speaking of your brother?

Ah yes, just so, but if she were
Your mother's uncle's sister
How would your cousin's sister's aunt
Address her when she kissed her?

Yes that's a point I meant to add
Your nephew's cousin's father
If he an uncle's sister had
(And neither of the two were mad)
Would he respect her rather?

But if your father's cousin's niece
(His brother's cousin's mother)
Were married to your father's son
Would he be called your brother?

Indeed, now this if it be so
Is very interesting
And really should not be I think
The subject of your jesting.

For if your father's mother's son
Were nephew to your mother
I really cannot understand
Why she should call him brother."

Alas, Alas, for just before
The doctor's mind could grip her
A shout of laughter issued from
The Cabin of the Skipper.

Others' Opinions of Rivers

In Sassoon's autobiography (under the guise of 'The Memoirs of George Sherston') Rivers is one of the few characters to retain their original names. There is a whole chapter devoted to Rivers and he is immortalised by Sassoon as a near demi-god who saved his life and his soul. Sassoon wrote:

I very much like to meet Rivers in the next life. It is difficult to believe that such a man as he could be extinguished.

Rivers was much loved and admired, not just by Sassoon. Bartlett wrote of his experiences of Rivers in one of his obituaries, as well as in many other articles (see 'References') as the man had a profound influence on his life:

On June 3 last year I was walking through the grounds of St. John's College, here in Cambridge, when I met Dr. Rivers returning from a stroll. He was full of energy and enthusiasm, and began at once to talk about certain new courses of lectures which he proposed to deliver at the Psychological Laboratory during the present year. On the evening of the next day I heard that he was dangerously ill. As I approached the College on the morning of June 5 I saw the flag at half mast. He had, in fact, died in the early afternoon of the preceding day. Never have I known so deep a gloom settle upon the College as fell upon it at that time. There was hardly a man-young or old-who did not seem to be intimately and personally affected. Rivers knew nearly everybody. As Praelector of Natural Sciences at St. John's he interviewed all the science freshmen when they came first into residence and, in an amazing number of cases, he kept in close touch with them throughout their Cambridge career. Everybody who came into contact with him was stimulated and helped to a degree which those who are acquainted only with his published works can never fully realise... it is of Rivers as a man that we think; of his eager and unconquerable optimism, and of his belief in the possible greatness of all things human. Whatever may be the verdict of the years upon his published works, the influence of his vivid personality will remain for all who knew him as one of the best things that have ever entered their lives.

Other people have also spoken very highly of Rivers' personality, of his pioneering treatments and of the lasting impact he had on their lives. However, it seems that one must differentiate between 'pre-war' Rivers and 'post war' Rivers as he seems to have left very different impressions in these two periods:

Pre-War

In those days he was very reserved in mixed company, and was hampered by a stammer... [in 1897 Rivers addressed the Abernethian Society at Barts.] The occasion was not no unqualified success. He chose 'Fatigue' as his subject, and before he had finished, his title was writ large on the faces of his audience. He had not yet acquired the art of expressing his original ideas in an attractive form... But if among two or three friends his conversation was full of interest and illumination. He was always out to elicit the truth, entirely sincere, and disdainful of mere dialect

(Walter Langdon-Brown on Rivers' early days at St. John's)

I thought at first that he had almost no interest in women. But once I expressed the view that segregation of the sexes in University was a dreadful thing, and that the professed disdainful attitude of undergraduates towards girls was equally deplorable, he surprised me by the candour and warmth of his concurrence. He said the difficulty was to find a way out... He agreed that he himself didn't see enough of women

(Arnold Bennett, a friend of Rivers, on Rivers' relationship with women)

Post War

He did not tell me that I had done my best to justify his belief in me. He merely made me feel that he took it for granted, and now we must go on to something better still. And this was the beginning of the new life toward which he had shown the way…

(Sassoon in Sherston's Progress)

I must never forget Rivers. He is the only man who can save me if I break down again. If I am able to keep going it will be through him

(Sassoon in his diaries)

Even in his death, Sassoon believed, Rivers had helped him: ‘He has awakened in me a passionate consciousness of the significance of life,’ he wrote in his diary the day after hearing the news. ‘In a few hours I have recognised as never before the intensity of life that Rivers communicated to his friends’. He saw him now ‘in all his glory of selfless wisdom and human service, the inevitable effect of death, he supposed, ‘when the living have loved the dead’

(J.M Wilson on Sassoon's opinion)

It was personal friendship with Dr Rivers, admiration for his book, Instinct and the Unconscious, and the encouragement he gave me in my writing... that has made this book take the shape and title it has taken

(Robert Graves on Rivers and his book Poetic Unreason)

When Rivers died... it seemed as though the death of my friends was following me in peacetime as relentlessly as in war

(Robert Graves in his autobiography Good-bye to All That)

I'm sorry to be leaving... certain individuals, although the number I mind about is rather small... Rivers, after all, was the person who mattered most

(Kingsley Martin in a diary entry two months after Rivers' death as he prepared for graduation)

There were enthusiastic psychotherapists before Rivers, but the orthodox profession were inclined to regard them as cranks. But Rivers's position as an academic scientist was unassailable, and his adhesion to this new branch of medicine commanded respect for it

(Langdon-Brown on the influence of Rivers on psychotherapy)

Rivers' influence was due to a very fascinating personality which it is impossible to express in words. I think that which first impressed most of us was his boundless enthusiasm for his work, an enthusiasm he succeeded in instilling in his students... Busy as his many activities kept him, he always seemed to be genuinely glad when we interrupted his work by bringing some problem for discussion... It is remarkable tribute to the sympathy which we intuitively felt for him that none of us hesitated to bring forward his difficulties or express his opinions, for he had an extraordinary way of making us feel that we were taking part in a discussion on a plane of equality with him

(T.G Platten, a student of Rivers)

Rivers' legacy continues even today in the form of The Rivers Centre, which treats patients suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder using the same famously humane methods as Rivers had. There is also a Rivers Memorial Medal, founded in 1923, which is rewarded each year to an anthropologist who has made a significant impact in his or her field.

Published Works

• 'The Todas' Rivers (1906)
• 'The Action of Drugs' Rivers (1908)
• 'The Repression of War Experience' Rivers' Lancet Paper (1918)
• 'Instinct and the Unconscious' Rivers (1920)
• 'Medicine, Magic and Religion' Rivers (1923)
• 'Conflict and Dream' Rivers (1923)
• 'Social Organisation' Rivers (1924)

In Fiction

The life of W.H.R. Rivers and his encounter with Sassoon was fictionalised by Pat Barker in the Regeneration Trilogy, a series of three books including Regeneration (1991), The Eye in the Door (1993) and The Ghost Road (1995). The trilogy was greeted with considerable acclaim, with The Ghost Road being awarded the Booker Prize in the year of its publication. Regeneration was filmed in 1997 with Jonathan Pryce in the role of Rivers.

External Links

• W.H.R Rivers: A Founding Father Worth Remembering
• 'Everything is Relatives: William Rivers'
• Counter-Attack biography
• The Rivers Centre
• Torres Straits Essay
• Colour Terms
• 'W H R Rivers and the hazards of interpretation'
• Historicism
• Rivers: The Forgotten Healer
• W.H.R Rivers (Richard Slobodin)