Chris Packham’s love for animals came at an early age, but his collection of wild and wonderful finds didn’t exactly endear him to classmates...
I went to a series of schools, all Bitterne Park, on the eastern side of Southampton, starting with the infant’s school when I was five. It was the one my father had attended – an old Victorian building close to a river and an area of reclaimed land.
My mother was a terribly tardy woman and I was late the first morning, as I would be for so many more things while my mother was in control. When I finally arrived, the only seat left was next to a girl called Karen Harris, who from then on was present with me throughout my schooling until we left at 16.
When I got to junior school I saw rather a lot of the headmaster, Mr Gilmont. I don’t think I was deliberately troublesome, I just didn’t agree with many of the rules. I enjoyed going to school though; it never put me off, because I always loved learning.
My father taught me to read using encyclopedias, and I was tested on them repeatedly. He has a great belief – which I share – that knowledge, as opposed to information, is important. It paid dividends in the end because my desire for knowledge has been a great asset.
We had pet days at schools, which were fantastic. No one liked my pets, particularly, but I enjoyed having them in school. I was already obsessed with animals, so I would fill the nature table with my discoveries of skulls, nests, eggs and snake skins.
I had grass snakes escaping from my desk, and I took in adders and they got out, so that was obviously a bit mad. The other kids didn’t find it amusing. I once found a dead owl and stored it in my desk. One of the girls opened the lid and shrieked the school down. They made such a fuss about that.
Bloody hell, yeah, my house was a menagerie. My parents were very tolerant, within reason. Initially, it was things I could catch myself – lizards, slow worms and frogs. By the time I was eight or nine I had a large reptile collection, and things I bought from the local pet shop. After that it was more wild animals – foxes, badgers, magpies, kestrels.
Beyond the playground walls there was an area of parkland which ran down to a river. At lunchtimes we were allowed out and I’d be exploring that natural habitat, largely on my own, as I was quite a solitary kid. I began to struggle at that school. It was becoming apparent that I wasn’t like the other kids, so I was bullied. Towards the end of my time there I wasn’t happy in that regard.
We didn’t have uniforms in our school, and when I was interviewed to be head boy or a senior prefect the headmaster asked me if I would I wear a uniform for these positions. I remember laughing, guffawing, and as a consequence writing off my chances of any of those things happening. Not that I was bothered because I was too busy with my studies.
I’ve never been a supporter of uniforms of any kind really. I was ferociously independent. There was no way I was gonna wear what anyone told me to wear. Particularly by the time you’re interested in expressing yourself. When I left school in 1977 I turned up in a studded leather jacket and blue hair, to get more O Levels than anyone else had ever achieved in that school, and they wouldn’t let me in to collect them. It was a joke.
I had a very influential biology teacher in secondary school called John Buckley who was a great early mentor for me. He explained that if I wanted to study more I’d need O Levels to get to university. So I went from mostly average grades to taking those 14 O Levels. I had to convince the staff to let me do four extra ones. All I did was work. I passed them all, and went on to college.
I did a lot of activities outside of school with John. Bird ringing, for example (he had a license), and at lunch we would cycle to an abandoned farmhouse, collect all the barn owl pellets, and analyse them to see what the owls had been eating. He was a great source of inspiration and a person I aspired to emulate.
Only one or two. We had alcoholic teachers, and ones who’d give you a slap on occasions. I was never punched by a teacher, but others were in extreme cases. That was the older teachers. Some of them taught my father for Christ’s sake, and they were teaching in the war. They weren’t going to go easy on a student telling them to ‘fuck off’.
Definitely. What schools have is the opportunity to give all children the opportunity to engage with nature. Schools are important as a tried-and-tested, safe environment for children to get out and learn, and to feel comfortable in that environment.
I think they can learn the value of life. I hope that they would learn that all life matters. It’s not about our life – the life of a mosquito, a cockroach, a squall of pigeons or a wasp are equally as valuable as a panda, tiger or eagle.
A few years ago over the summer I collected every dead fly I found on the windowsill of my house, and on a piece of card I made a sign for my stepdaughter Megan that said ‘Love Life’ in dead flies. I don’t think she fully understands it yet, but she will one day.
The greater beauty of it all is its complexity and its entirety. Individual species can be beautiful; kids see that and respond to them, and love them, but nothing exists in that form of isolation. They exist in a joined up way, so the things they don’t want to cuddle, or have posters of on their wall, are equally important.
So a love for all life would be my greatest ambition for kids in school.
Chris Packham is currently campaigning for various causes including stopping the badger cull, and the persecution of birds of prey. He is also making a number of new science programmes that will air later in the year, and you can see him when Springwatch returns to BBC2 on Monday 25 May.
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