Education, education, edification.

Vane farm was originally bought as one of two RSPB reserves in Scotland's central belt that had environmental education as their raison d'etre,  the other one was Lochwinnoch, over in the west. I was employed by the Education Department, not Reserves division, but things gradually drifted towards the warden (me) reporting to our Reserves Department in Edinburgh and Fay Pascoe, our education officer, reporting to the Lodge down in England. Confused?

Pepper Boletus

I had a long background in Environmental Education myself, but all of it in the south. Fay introduced me to a whole set of educational activities that were appropriate to the site and the Scottish curriculum. In those days you were allowed to taste things; not just the obvious ones like blueberries off the hill but the odd fungus such as pepper boletus and plants like sheep's sorrel (like the one in your salad) and wood sorrel that is totally unrelated but tastes the same because they both contain oxalic acid.

The Vane was a popular destination for schools during the week, and for Young Ornithologists at week-ends. On the day before a school visit, we wrapped corrugated cardboard sheets around trees and put out pitfall traps to make sure we had a good selection of decomposers and predators among our mini-beasts. Years later, I used the very same tools on two teacher training courses in Tanzania; one on the coast in Dar es Salaam and one in the Uluguru Mountains above Morogoro where I worked with a fellow RSPB man, Zul Bhatia. Zul had left Insh Marshes to lead an EU funded project with me. He's just retired as the warden at Lochwinnoch.


I found that the Tanzanian teachers really didn't like handling the toads, beetles and such-like that we caught in our pitfall traps, and that there was often a good reason for that. I also learned that you don't go beating the trees for insects in hot countries. In Scotland it's usually so cold that the bugs just fall off the trees onto your sheet. In Africa they usually go berserk and sting you. It's also wise to look out for snakes and the odd leopard that might be up your tree. My pitfall traps succeeded brilliantly down on the coast but up in the montane forest they failed dismally. A troop of colobus monkeys watched us put the traps out at dusk and emptied them for us at dawn... but I digress.

Jim leading a YOC event.

Fay didn't do all the teaching on her own; she had a brilliant team of teacher naturalists from around the Loch. Margaret Crichton had a particular trick of memorising every child's name for the duration of the visit. Weeks later kids would test her when they encountered her out shopping and she would have to admit that her technique worked in the short term only. It was really impressive though. Bridget Grey (Biddy) was a great naturalist and very active in the local wildlife societies and then there was Quentin's sister-in-law, Jane Smith who obviously loved working with the children.

Fay was eventually promoted to be the RSPB's senior education person in Scotland and Jackie Youill took over from her at Vane Farm. We often worked together on events at Vane Farm and sometimes took a Young Ornithologists Road Show on a Scottish tour. I remember that the shows in Glasgow and Inverness were sold out, but Oban was a a bit of a shock; no-one came until an hour after the start. The Hebrides and the west coast really do live to the beat of a different drum.

Native Americans

We held quite a few special events for Young Ornithologists, including a Halloween trip at night to Castle Island using a flotilla of boats, each with a lantern in the bow. We held joint training days with the Scottish Countryside Rangers Association, hosting two famous educators from the USA, Steve Van Meter and Joseph Cornel, but I think the most fun was had playing "Red Indians" with Michael Caduto. I still have my costume and the rope burns from when the children tied me up and tried to scalp me during a reenactment of Custer's Last Stand at Little Bighorn.

On the informal side, we used to barnstorm the local village halls with slide shows and I would usually take someone along to help, often by running a sales table at the bigger events. In those days you could easily find five groups a week to talk to in the winter. I even used to go and talk to the mums in the coffee break at the local playgroup.

Dunfermline had its own RSPB members' group and we met in the Carnegie Hall, which was pretty palatial. I saw some really good speakers there and went to some good concerts too. Our top guest was Prof. David Bellamy who was a huge TV star at the time and hosted several great series.  His book on the ecology of the American West remains a classic. The problem with David was that he overbooked himself; said yes to everyone and was invariably late. We knew this, so I was geared up with a talk that I could give if he didnt turn up, or was delayed. I had a deal with the projectionist that he would put a sunset slide up if David was in the building, and I shared this secret with the audience. I got five minutes into my talk when the sunset went up on-screen and the audience went wild. It remains the best applause I have ever had at the end of a talk, and it was my shortest ever presentation.

Most talks were pretty close to home; Edinburgh, Perth, Dunfermline, St Andrews or Dundee; but I was happy to go further afield. One autumn night I spoke in a little hall by the Black Wood of Rannoch and then set off to drive home. It didn't seem windy but, as I rounded a bend on a narrow road my headlights picked up a mass of brown leaves blowing across the road, and the car skidded. I pulled up to check my tyres and saw that I was driving through a carpet of frogs. It took me ages to clear a way through.

On a similar night I was booked to speak in a classic corrugated iron village hall near Loch of the Lowes, above Dunkeld in the hamlet of Butterstone. The Scottish Womens' Rural Institutes (WRI) was a formidable institution and I spoke to many of their groups in the region. This one was celebrating it's anniversary with, not one, but two guest speakers and they had invited the girls from the local boarding school along. My fellow speaker was a specialist in flower arranging; so no sweat there, I thought.

Well, it was obvious from the start that I was the make-weight, and I was on second. Her talk was absolutely brilliant; mine less so. I have to say, it was a great evening out and the hospitality was wonderful.

I spoke to the Kinross WRI  more than once. The first visit was a disaster; not because my talk was bad; I never gave it. It was their AGM and halfway through the treasurer stormed off in a huff, taking half my audience with her. Then there was a lot of argument and and I was ushered back-stage with a cup of tea. My hosts apologised and said it would be best if I came back another time. I heartily agreed.

My most memorable talk was in another corrugated iron hut somewhere in deepest Perthshire where my talk went down especially well, but the best bit was outside in the car park. People helped me outside with my gear and we all stopped to stare in amazement at the full-on display of northern lights. After half an hour we dispersed and, in complete darkness,  I backed the car out of it's slot only to hear a nasty crunching sound. The projector, screen and stand had been left on the ground behind the car, rather than in the boot.