In Advertising [or at least the advertising world that was] the gifts were obvious, and all about us. Creativity was ostensibly king and the rewards plentiful: Large [and for some vast] salaries, living like ersatz Lords and Ladies; expensed lunches, production company jollies, and the ‘second office’ [whichever pub was closest to the agency] from which to do business. And then there was the old creative team joke of starting a script with the words ‘Open on a pair of international plane tickets…’ There was so much to be enjoyed that, if you weren’t careful, any real gifts could pass you by, and you’d never ever notice.

Spurred by watching David Attenborough’s 100^th Celebration. this post is about one of those gifts; a much rarer one; let’s just call it a revelation.

If it is possible to have a Damascene moment in what had become a quite bloated, self-aggrandising industry, mine happened at the tail of my tenure in old school advertising land.

It came via a call from long-time collaborator, the very fine and brilliant Mark Downes, of Green Eyed Monster Films.

“I’ve a small scripting task, if you’re up for it?”

A beer was had and chats revealed that it was for a trust called Learning through Landscapes, a small and rather amazing bunch focused on helping schools unlock the power of their grounds to enrich education, nurture wellbeing, and deepen connection with nature. The jewel in this crown was that one of their Trustees was the indomitable Sir David, and he was prepared to front the film if his schedule allowed. We just needed to spark his interest and commitment to being involved.

We developed a film idea, called ‘Conserving Wonder,’ focused on how the natural world stimulates children’s sense of wonder in nature, and why that’s worth conserving. The film set out to illustrate in simple terms the pressure on schools’ depleting outside spaces, and how nature could work as an offset strategy to school children’s increasing classroom incarceration. It felt like something only Sir David could land, in his own inimitable way.

Obviously, Sir David is written through every moment of my own sense of natural wonder growing up. His voice was seared into my psyche. He was solely responsible for bringing the natural world into my sitting room. Sunday was the perfect day for his wonder-filled sermons on the natural world: there was a sense of reverence and majesty in every episode. And amongst it all, Sir David seemed blissfully unaware that of all the creatures he filmed, he was one of the rarest. In that way Attenborough is a unicorn: a creature whose very existence within it seems to hold the world in balance. So to say that I was excited to be working with him is an understatement of life-sized proportion.

Prior to the shoot, I had both the honour and the pleasure of sitting in Sir David’s library room in Richmond, surrounded by his books and mementoes of travels to far off places, talking about the best script narrative and arc for the film. It was a golden gift, a once in a lifetime experience. But it was only the beginning. He is indeed the gift that keeps on giving.

As we drove to the school where the filming was to take place, I posed him a question. I used to walk around Regent’s Park every morning. At the northern-most point of my walk I would edge along the path next to the zoo. I would delight in the sounds of the animals in their morning reverie. But one thing fascinated and amused me more than any other. There was a bird who would ‘kick off’ every time it heard a police or ambulance siren [which was often]. I had recorded the bird on my phone, so I played it to him. He listened intently to the bird’s call, chiming with the police sirens passing around it, pondered, then said “I think that may well be an Australian Whipbird” My own private nature lesson.

We arrived at the school, excited and expectant. Before filming was to happen, Sir David was going to address the children. It was a master class in story telling. The particular story he told in their assembly was about Crocodiles in the Everglades at night. They were mesmerised, as were all the adults. He knew his audience.

When filming began, another masterclass. His ability to internalise our narrative and execute it reminded me that he is a storyteller of epic proportion: a master of his art. The children adored him of course, and they had none of the legacy of a life time of his storytelling to ignite them. In person he just is that person.

Which brings us to the ham in our story sandwich.

We broke for lunch, and for Sir David to rest. There was some confusion about where the sandwiches were, but they were eventually located in the headmistress’s office. People milled about chattering and grabbing sandwiches and crisps, then suddenly, the door closed, and there I was with Sir David, perched on smallish chairs, with our sandwiches on small paper plates. It can only have been 20 minutes or so, but we sat, eating sandwiches, speaking of his recent travels. He had just returned from his grand tour of a vast community of global scientists and naturalists. Until this moment he had eschewed wading in on the Climate Crisis conversation. He was a scientist. He needed empirical proof of its truth. He’d been given it; and seemed laid low by it. He was obviously troubled by what he’d been told – and he was aware that suddenly time was against him, and he felt there was much to do.

As we nibbled on our ham sandwiches, the one thing that struck me about him, beyond his passion and professionalism, and the visceral sense of care he felt for the natural world, was his humility. Given all he has achieved, he is a remarkably humble man.

As someone who’d spent decades in an industry riddled with hubris and an often wildly misguided sense of its own greatness and importance [I include myself in this], here was a man who was truly engaged in shaping the culture of our world and changing it for the better. But his demeanour was one of sublime humility in the face of the majesty of the natural world he loved and his commitment to conserving it in whichever way possible.

They say ‘don’t meet your heroes, you may well be disappointed.’ In this instance, this was about as far from being the case as is possible. Being with Sir David, for even the shortest time, was revelatory, and for me at least, life changing. My story is I am sure, one of tens if not hundreds of thousands of similar stories told and retold over the years about how Sir David Attenborough has changed people in some profound way; but it’s mine.

Mark Downes made a remarkable little film; discrete, well balanced and beautifully judged. It tells a simple story: of what nature means to children, their education and their sense of wonder in the world, and what we can do to help conserve that wonder. Sir David ends the film with a typically quiet yet profound question: ‘if children do not understand and experience nature, they will not grow up to protect it. And if they don’t, who will?’ Quite.

Watch it here.

It was an honour to be a part of this project, so I thank Mark and the smart folks at Learning through Landscapes for the gift of that experience – and Sir David for opening my eyes a little more to what is possible with the right passion and perseverance. Steely is the word they use for. him. Thank god for that. We are all the. richer for it.