Ducklings

 

Ducklings

Photos courtesy  of Wikimedia Commons

For some reason I cannot fathom, I cannot access my own photos!

It is the season for young things of all shapes and sizes.

There was a nursery class, now called ‘pre-school’, attached to the last school I worked at, with its own small self-contained garden. It was a comfortable, welcoming environment for young children.

One day there was great excitement when a Mallard duck was discovered nesting among the angelica plants. The nursery staff ensured that she was carefully protected from the enthusiastic advances of curious small children, with an oft-repeated reminder to look with eyes only and not with fingers. The children responded beautifully and looked each day to count the ever-growing number of eggs.

One day came the thrilling news that the eggs had hatched. I forget how many there were, at least 12, I think. When the last one had dried out after hatching, Mother Duck gathered her brood and began the long journey to the nearest water. To do this, she had to cross the playground, exit through the school gate and make her way across uncultivated ground to water.

I glanced out of my classroom window to see Richard, the school caretaker, attempting to marshal Mrs Duck and her family. The playground was uneven and had drains at intervals, with holes in the grating big enough for ducklings to fall through with no easy way to rescue them. I told my class of nine-year-olds about the potential danger the ducklings faced as they travelled from their nest and we all went out to help. The children were very sensible and quiet and together we herded the ducklings away from the danger points and towards the gate.

Unfortunately, we could not follow them out of the school, so went back into the classroom, feeling we had done our best. We never found out how the ducklings fared, or how many survived, if indeed they did, but shepherding them made a very different and pleasant interlude in an otherwise normal school day.

The school had been built on rough common land only a few years previously. It was in a semi-rural location, in a dip that was said to flood every fifty years or so, so water was never a great distance away, unless you were a day-old duckling.

I was surprised one morning when I was walking along the corridor to my classroom, to find a newt struggling across the carpeted ridges. I found a transparent container and put her (I decided it was a female) in it with some greenery and kept her on my desk for the day. She was a source of great interest to the children.

When I left for the day, I took her home. With hindsight, I should have released her in the grounds outside the school, but I took her with me and put her in our garden pond where she disappeared into the depths. The reason I thought she was a female was that fairly soon we had more than one smooth newt, where before there had been none - or perhaps there were and I had never seen them.

When I told my neighbour about our newt, he said he had a newt and that he called it Tiny. He had to prompt me to ask why he’d given it that name – honestly, I’m so serious gullible sometimes that I wonder how I’ve made it this far in life. Anyway, I duly asked, ‘Why do you call it Tiny?’ and he said, ‘Because it’s my newt.’

On another day, I looked out of the classroom window to see six green woodpeckers on the field. We stopped what we were doing and had an impromptu nature lesson. The woodpeckers remained on the grass, digging for insects, for about twenty minutes. It was a joy to see so many together.

I remember these occasions vividly. I wonder if ‘my’ children do. At the very least I hope they discovered some pleasure in seeing Nature at first hand.