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.

An educated newt and an ambitious Mallard

Smooth or Common Newt (Lissotriton vulgaris) image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

The independent school in which I was teaching was housed in a Victorian building that had once been a small hotel. It was warm and welcoming but not appropriate for the twentieth (soon to be twenty-first) century. The rooms were very small and the facilities minimal and it was becoming difficult to entice fee-paying parents to entrust their cif hildren to us. Eventually it relocated to a purpose-built building designed to foster every imaginable talent, though it too soon proved inadequate, requiring a separate annexe for art and science. The land on which it was erected was low-lying and close to water and nearby was a sinkhole which would take flood water in times of excessive rainfall - every fifty years or so, apparently.

The corridors were wide and spacious and carpeted in hard-wearing broad-rib cord. One day I was returning to my classroom when I noticed a little creature moving quite fast across the ridged carpet. On closer inspection I saw it was a smooth newt for which the carpet must have been like a ploughed field. I found a container and put the newt into it - my class found this very entertaining and kept asking to take off the perforated lid to see it more closely. At the end of the school day I was pleased to see that the newt was still alert and transported it carefully to my garden pond, several miles from its home territory. I felt rather guilty about this for I didn't know if I was sentencing it to a solitary life without friends and relations but over the course of the next few years I found several of these amphibians in varying stages of development.

In conversation with my next-door neighbour I told him about the newt and he said, 'I've got a newt and I call it Tiny.' I asked why and he replied, 'Because it's my newt.' (Ba-boom tish!)

(To be strictly truthful I didn't ask why until he prompted me because I was intrigued by the thought of him naming a newt - sometimes I take life too seriously!)

The school had a very successful Nursery class (kindergarten) with a small enclosed garden and playground. Children played happily and noisily there and one day the staff noticed that a Mallard duck had laid her eggs in a sheltered spot. They did a wonderful job of protecting her from the trampling feet and inquisitive fingers of three-year-olds and she hatched twelve eggs, giving cause for even more interest. Eventually the day came when she felt she must lead her brood to water. To reach this she had to leave the sanctuary of the Nursery garden, cross the large playground and negotiate her way out of it. The playground was uneven and punctuated at intervals by deep drains over which were heavy metal grids with large holes - potential death traps for tiny ducklings. I organised my class to marshal Mrs Duck and her babies safely round these hazards and although she was a little disturbed by so many humans around her she proceeded determinedly, her brood peeping as they skittered after her. I don't think she ever returned to her busy nesting spot.

I wonder how many of the youngsters survived to live their lives like the drake and duck above

The Mallard (Anas platyrhynchos) is a dabbling duck common throughout North America, Europe, Asia, Africa and Australia. In New Zealand it is presently the most common duck species and is considered a pest because it is hybridising local related duck species. It is the ancestor of all domestic ducks apart from a few derived from the unrelated Muscovy Duck (Cairinia moschata)

Mallards are found in most wetlands including parks, ponds and rivers. A flock of Mallards is called a sord. Oftentimes two or more drakes will court a duck but there is also a high incidence - as much as 19% - of homosexual pairings.