Nature Table
Thanks to Birdwatcher for reminding me of this bit of ancient history, with his comment on my blog t'other day.
When I was five, we had a Nature Table in the classroom. You know the sort of thing: tadpoles in a tank. Daffodils in a jamjar. Conkers and acorns in the autumn. I bet you had one in your classroom when you were five.
I was keen on the Nature Table. I didn't enjoy school, though nobody ever believed me when I said that because I got on well with the work and had plenty of friends. But I felt trapped: and the Nature Table reminded me of my previous freedom before I was imprisoned at the age of four.
And, keen to help, I used to bring in things for the Nature Table - little bunches of wild flowers, interesting leaves, pebbles, driftwood. (I begin to realise that I haven't changed much).
One day I thought of something particularly interesting. I made one and took it in proudly.
It was a jamjar full of stripes.
"What is it, dear?" asked our teacher, Miss Hale.
"It's a wormery."
"A what?" she asked absently, probably distracted by being surrounded by a little group of children saying things like "Miss, he's stolen my pencil," and "Miss, I've got to the bottom of the page, what do I do now?"
"A wormery. There's a layer of sand and then a layer of soil and then a layer of sand and then a layer of soil and then a layer of sand and then a layer of soil. Then I put some worms in. We can watch while they mix up the sand and the soil."
"You - what? - put some worms in?"
"Yes, Miss, look." I took one out to show her.
She screamed and fled the classroom, which was not the reaction that I was expecting.
I bet that never happened to David Attenborough.
When I was five, we had a Nature Table in the classroom. You know the sort of thing: tadpoles in a tank. Daffodils in a jamjar. Conkers and acorns in the autumn. I bet you had one in your classroom when you were five.
I was keen on the Nature Table. I didn't enjoy school, though nobody ever believed me when I said that because I got on well with the work and had plenty of friends. But I felt trapped: and the Nature Table reminded me of my previous freedom before I was imprisoned at the age of four.
And, keen to help, I used to bring in things for the Nature Table - little bunches of wild flowers, interesting leaves, pebbles, driftwood. (I begin to realise that I haven't changed much).
One day I thought of something particularly interesting. I made one and took it in proudly.
It was a jamjar full of stripes.
"What is it, dear?" asked our teacher, Miss Hale.
"It's a wormery."
"A what?" she asked absently, probably distracted by being surrounded by a little group of children saying things like "Miss, he's stolen my pencil," and "Miss, I've got to the bottom of the page, what do I do now?"
"A wormery. There's a layer of sand and then a layer of soil and then a layer of sand and then a layer of soil and then a layer of sand and then a layer of soil. Then I put some worms in. We can watch while they mix up the sand and the soil."
"You - what? - put some worms in?"
"Yes, Miss, look." I took one out to show her.
She screamed and fled the classroom, which was not the reaction that I was expecting.
I bet that never happened to David Attenborough.
posted by Daphne at 12:27 pm
2 Comments:
we didn't have a nature table, we had the outside which, being generally next to the countryside, was famous for it's creeping ivy, rockery and cavernous rhododendron bushes under which it was possible to kiss the cheek of Valerie Lawton, in a five year old moment of passion. That was all the nature I needed.
I'm afraid I would react in a similar way if a child showed me a jamjar full of spiders. Ughhh, even the thought of it is horrible!
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