Understanding louse population dynamics requires a fair amount of maths. The lice don’t bother with calculations though, they just get on with it.
Head lice are niftily active and it is easily possible for a single louse to spend the day visiting several different heads. As phthirapterist John Maunder puts it brilliantly, head lice are not castaways marooned on separate islands, but an actively intermingling community living on an archipelago.
The most adventurous lice are newly mated females, who will swap heads at a moment’s notice. This is the perfect dispersal tactic – they create new colonies and mix their genes with others. In-breeding can be fatal for head lice.
Part of this is down to the fact that there are (at least) five different types of female, and two types of male head louse. These types are demonstrated by the sex ratios of the offspring. One combination of mating produces around 50/50 males and females. Another produces only males: not a good strategy for ensuring the survival of the species. All the others produce populations in which females greatly outnumber males. This is a good tactic if the females are to go on dangerous head-to-head colonisation journeys
An average louse lives for about 30 days (60 in the laboratory) and can produce 300 eggs, each of which can grow to maturity in 20 days. Despite horrendous tales of infestations containing hundreds or even thousands of lice, the ‘average’ population on an infested head is 10–20 head lice. There is something wrong with this, though. It turns out, when working on the population mathematics, that not enough of them are nymphs. The explanation is that many nymphs die young, damaged by the grooming (or scratching) of their victims. The nymphs are delicate little things. Get the comb out now.
Apparently in the ‘Middle Ages’, the election of the local burgomaster in Hurdenburg, Sweden, was governed by the wanderings of a louse. Candidates for this mayor-type position sat down and rested their beards on a table. A louse was released into the centre of the table and the owner of the beard first honoured by the louse’s occupancy was elected.
It all seems just a little odd, though. In fact, this ‘fact’ arose from a second-hand report in a book published in 1865.
It has been repeated almost word for word ever since, however, and has spread to such an extent that this is now the only ‘fact’ known about the town or city of Hurdenburg.
No one knows where is Hurdenburg is. It does not exist on modern maps. It may be Hedberg, in the Arvidsjaur Kommun, near Norrbottens. Wherever, it’s too similar-sounding to ‘headbug’, surely. Or maybe that’s how the place got its name?
And what could be the rationale behind such a bizarre protocol? Was the elder with the longest beard (probably the oldest person there) reasoned to have the greatest experience and lore? There is still a lot more research to do before we can accept this ridiculous piece of historical hearsay |
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My chum Kaye has a Facebook friend who put out the question: ‘My child has come home with nits, any suggestions?’ ‘She’s a natural Mother Earth type,’ Kaye reported and my heart sank.
There were many, many Mother Earth types at the excellent festival I went to with my offspring a couple of Julys ago. It seems the English summer, though cruel to everyone else, was kind to us and we had three days of sunshine and grubby pleasure sitting in the grass, drinking beer in the 
afternoon me that is, not my children. We wandered around the entertainment stalls, therapy tents and daft workshops and listened to a lot of live music. One afternoon, the main field was full of dancing adults and sheepish children embarrassed by their parents and a friend introduced me to an arty sort she thought I might get along with.
She was indeed interesting so we chatted and watched and supped from cans. Eventually I couldn’t help but giggle and point out several children who were mucking around among the revellers dressed in oversized T-shirts, sporting long matted plaits and bare feet. I was amused because every so often, they stopped and gave their heads a good scratch.
‘Hah! Just look at those kids going behind their ears like hound dogs! They are absolutely riddled!’, I chortled.
And my new acquaintance laughed and agreed with me and we carried on. It was only later that I saw her giving them some money to go and get themselves something to eat.
So, I asked Kaye, what was the advice that came back on Facebook? ‘All kinds,’ Kaye replied but ultimately the Mother Earth type had decided to ‘let nature take its course’.
‘We had a holiday when the whole family was full of nits and ended up passing them on to the other two families staying with us. In the end, we had a mass de-nitting event in the courtyard beside the old French farmhouse we’d rented, with all chairs outside and 11 kids and six adults all being combed. Very picturesque it was. Mind you, the French conditioner was rubbish: too posh and not slippery enough.’
Becky, Greenwich
Why not take the whole family on holiday, insects and all? C’mon, you haven’t lived until you’ve shuffled around Super U in Northern France wondering what the difference is between shampooing and après shampooing, apart from the après. Given that the price of the latter is often double the former, you’d safely assume that the ‘after’ gunk is conditioner. It is, but not as we know it.
I never thought I’d hear myself say how lucky we are to have supermarkets as we do in the UK, although you’ll be pleased to know I’ve made it a rule of life never to cross the threshold of a certain chain, even during a nit emergency (and that includes the French equivalent with a remarkably similar trois pour deux philosophy). But we are lucky because we get a whole aisle of conditioners to choose from, whereas the French get precisely two bottles of après shampooing. And the one you put in your chariot (I love that: ‘bring me my chariot!’; ‘Crikey, she’s off her chariot…’) is mysteriously inept at the business of de-tangling and therefore aiding the business of removing nits and lice back at the gîte.
But should you opt for the chemical route, who is brave enough to face those stern pharmacists in their spike-heeled court shoes and lab coats in the pristine pharmacies where narry a furry hot water bottle cover nor novelty baby bib can be found? Unlike in the UK, I think those independent chemists survive because les supermarchés are too scared of them to stock more than two bottles of conditioner. And once the product is secured, do you understand the instructions? Non.
Have comb, will travel. I have combed in restrooms, on boats, in courtyards and on beaches and I have to admit, nothing beats the thrill of finding neither nits nor lice on holiday
Phrases: 1) English, 2) French, 3) German
1) I’d like to buy a nit comb please.
2) Je voudrais acheter un peigne anti poux s’il vous plaît.
3) Ich möchte bitte einem Nissenkamm kaufen.
1) Do you have anything to treat head lice?
2) Avez-vous un traitement pour les poux de tête?
3) Haben Sie etwas gegen Kopfläuse?
1) I found several adult lice.
2) J’ai trouvé plusieurs poux adultes.
3) Ich habe einige ausgewachsene Läuse gefunden.
1) Nits are just the empty egg shells.
2) Les lentes sont des coquilles d’œufs vides.
3) Nissen sind einfach die leeren Eierschalen.
1) It is the live lice you need to look for.
2) C’est les poux vivants que vous devez chercher.
3) Sie müssen die lebende Läuse suchen.
1) No that is just a silly myth.
2) Non, ceci n’est qu’un mythe bête.
3) Doch, das ist ein dummer Mythos.
1) I’ve read The Little Book of Nits and I know what I’m talking about.
2) J’ai lu Le Petit Livre des Poux, et je sais de quoi je parle.
3) Ich habe das Kleine Buch der Läuse gelesen, und ich weiβ, wovon ich rede.
