64 BBC WILDLIFE December 2021
a wooden frame with divided areas for more
substantial collections.
Grown-ups, too, seem compelled to
organise and classify. Holding, admiring,
describing and naming natural objects
grounds us in a very literal sense; earths us,
almost. This is a visceral, sensual way of
experiencing the wonders of nature.
The godfather of contemporary nature
writing, Richard Mabey, once claimed: “I
don’t really understand what the word
‘spiritual’ means. I am deeply a materialist;
I don’t want to have a metaphorical
relationship with something beyond its
reality.” In the same interview, published in
BBC Wildlife in 2010, he added: “If materialist
has a bad ring, call me a matterist.”
Our natural-history museums have their
origins in ‘cabinets of curiosities’, also known
by their German name wunderkammer. These
display cases, or sometimes entire rooms,
were devoted to showing off all manner
of fascinating objects from the natural
world, as well as books and prints. They
became a European craze in the 17th and
18th centuries. Every well-to-do household
needed one.
Dutch pharmacist Albertus Seba
amassed one of the era’s largest cabinets
of curiosities, and commissioned artists
to document his thousands of prized
specimens. Many regard the resulting
illustrated inventory, published between 1734
and 1765, as one of the greatest works of
natural history ever produced.
The fashion for collecting and displaying
nature continued well into the 20th century.
As before, the motivation frequently was
social status (“Look at my fabulous taste andAcorns, burrs and
pine cones were
once common on
nature tablesShould children be
encouraged to look
but not touch?how wealthy I am!”) as much as scholarly
interest. But people from all walks of life
were also driven simply by the beauty of
what they were seeking and the enjoyment
to be had tracking it down.
Consider, for example, the very popular
hobby of egg collecting, widespread
until after the Second World War (it was
made illegal in Britain in 1954). Many of
today’s older conservationists, Sir David
Attenborough and Bill Oddie among
them, once did it.T
his was, of course, before
more rounded and respectful
attitudes to other species
caught on. It is hard now to
enjoy the contents of these
collections, the best of which have long
since been absorbed by public museums,
without shuddering or at least feeling a little
queasy; the plunder to create them was on a
frightening scale.
There’s surely a big difference between
picking up a moulted feather or a few
conkers and removing an entire clutch
of eggs or, as was the norm, killing an
animal to collect it. But in an age of rapidly
disappearing species that many scientists
are calling the sixth mass extinction, can we
still countenance taking natural treasures –
anything at all – from the wild world?
Instead, should we adopt a strict ‘look
but don’t take’ policy? Does collecting
nature lead to more problematic pastimes,
such as trading rare items online? Or is, say,
beachcombing and gathering pretty flowers
okay? Maybe it is fine for children, as part
of unstructured wild play, but not adults?A ‘cabinet of
curiosities’ is filled
with taxidermy
bird specimens