Teenagers DO listen - A butterfly sanctuary

As a Warden, Bill plans his first school visits and all goes well till he has a group of boisterous teenagers. Meanwhile, Wendy writes a history of Wandlebury ring. Caroline and Bill make a butterfly sanctuary. 

Peacock butterfly. photo Chris Thomas

Extracts from a podcast of Bill Clark's autobiography, former warden of Wandlebury, read by Chris Thomas. Full podcast available here: https://archive.org/download/teenagers-do-listen/Ch7g-Teenagers-do-listen.mp3


...At 9.30 am the following Friday, 60 excited children arrived on a coach. There then followed a procedure that I adopted for many such visits: I asked them to form two groups – although, thirty children is still a rather unwieldy group strung out along woodland paths, but with the next coach load due in a couple of hours, I would have to manage. I then handed one of the teacher’s my written history leaflet and estate map, who was to lead the group to ‘do the Iron Age,’ whilst I led off the group for the ‘Nature Trail.’ At 10.30 am we changed over, and at 11.30 am, both groups arrived back in the car park – minutes after the next load had disembarked.

The lesson for me that day was that groups of thirty 12 to 16 year olds, who felt that they were out on the spree, were neither quiet, nor very attentive. In fact if the last, oldest and least attentive group had visited first, I would have found it difficult to continue. Anyway, despite little help or control from the teachers – and by missing out on any sustenance except the odd glass of water, I, and especially my voice, just made it to 3.30 pm, when the last children climbed aboard their coach. I slumped in my chair at home, whilst Wendy put food on the table. Taking a cue from my demeanour, and the fact I could hardly speak, she asked, ‘That bad was it?’ I just nodded, and later explained I would have to rethink my strategy. Obviously the older, modern school child was not used to paying attention, or that much interested in the countryside; perhaps I had been naive in my belief that I could reach the adults through the children.

On the Sunday – as a warm sunny day was forecast – I hurried to have all in readiness for an influx of visitors – clean the toilets and pick up any litter. By 11.00 am the car park and the roadsides were full of parked cars and I walked the paths keeping an eye on things. Through my binoculars, besides noticing there were more family groups than usual, I espied quite a sprinkling along the nature-trail and resolved to take that path next, but as I approached the car park I noticed a family group looking interestedly at a young man gesturing on the edge of the Ring Ditch bank, and as I arrived in earshot, I heard his father say, ‘That was utter piffle. There is no such plant as Stinking Hellebore; and as to its use with cattle in mediaeval times, giving it the name of Setterwort, you are having us on!’ I stepped close to the lad; ‘Your son is quite correct – and if you would rather he used the botanical name, it is Helleborusfoetidus, which of course translates from the Latin, as Stinking Hellebore.’ Dad swung back to the boy. ‘My God, so they are teaching you something in that school after all!’

For me it could not have been better, for I recognised him as one of the most vocal and disruptive of the last class on the Friday. In a state of shock, I kept them in sight for a while and he never missed a stop – in fact almost a mirror image of myself – except doing the trip in reverse! For the rest of that Sunday, and a few following weekends, I walked in a happy daze as I passed family groups, often with one young member leading yet another, ‘Nature Trail.’

...In the previous season I had suggested to Caroline that she could make a project out of discovering why, despite these insects laying as many as two hundred eggs, we were only seeing butterflies in twos and threes. Appalled at the losses – Caroline discovered my predicted four or five percent turning into adults, was nearer two percent – she wanted to bring the eggs under our protection. Fortunately during a hospital visit with her, I noticed perforated metal ceiling panels, each about 600 mm square, being thrown on a skip. We were allowed to take all we required; and after buying a couple of dozen small hinges, and a large box of 4 mm pop rivets, we soon had a splendid row of cages!
Later, right on cue, with the buddleia in front of the stable block in full flower, three of the cages of hanging pupae emerged. So late on a sunny afternoon, we transported them over there, opened the doors, and with gladdened hearts saw the majority of the three hundred or so peacock and tortoiseshell butterflies, stay and disport themselves around the large shrubs. However, that was Friday! On Sunday afternoon – another lovely sunny day – I walked into the Ring, to see a child chasing around with a butterfly net, and thought it might be advisable to have a word. Thank goodness Caroline wasn’t with me, for as I rounded the building, three more siblings came into view, all thrashing around the buddleia, and close by, one proud mum sitting on a blanket, surrounded by jars stuffed with dead and broken winged butterflies!...