In the beginning (moths)

The first moth that I have any recollection of appeared as if a short, stubby, pink cigar, hanging onto a pile of freshly laundered clothing that was spilling over the top of a washing basket. At first I wasn't sure what this 'thing' was - a medley of pink bubblegum and mossy green - was it really a living thing and not some toy misplaced by a younger sibling? But on closer examination it was real enough. It moved. And it had wings. Even then, without any known education or experience, I somehow knew that this was no butterfly but a moth. It was the summer of 1973 and I had no real interest in natural history, but that was about to change...

As if priming me for what was about to unfold, a second moth came to me that summer. A big thing, all chocolate brown discs on a white background, with splurges of orange. Two moths and two absolute belters. I needed to know more. And so, like so many schoolchildren before me, I sought enlightenment via one of the ubiquitous Observer Books - this particular small volume all about moths. My two unidentified insects were soon found - an Elephant Hawk Moth and a Garden Tiger - both bright and colourful, unlike quite a few of the species within the pages, like, for example, the Large Yellow Underwing - which became moth number three a few days later, being found at rest on my bedroom wall. And then, for some reason, the Observer's volume was placed on a bookshelf and stayed there, untouched.

Fast forward to early August 1975. A hot Saturday, memorable for two reasons. Firstly, my first experience of a live professional cricket match, an Ashes test at Lord's. And secondly, because of the moths. That evening, my extended family met up in the evening at a village hall in the Hertfordshire countryside close to Tring, gathering to celebrate the wedding of a distant relation. It was a warm night. I couldn't help but notice the hundreds of moths that were gathering at the windows, fluttering on the glass trying to find a way into the lit room. As I looked closer, a few of the younger children present saw my interest and came up to see what was going on. Look, moths! Loads of different sizes, shapes and colours! Yellows and Greens! Stripes and spots! And Large Yellow Underwings! I knew that one, and that impressed a few of them. We started to try and count how many different species were present, even though I (we) could not identify them. Like a modern-day Fagin, I gathered together a gang helpers, Oliver Twists and Artful Dodgers going outside with glass tumblers to collect the moths and bring them back to me where I pronounced what was what. One in particular was not only striking but I could identify it from the forgotten Observer book - a Swallowtail Moth!

But, once again, the moths sunk back into the background, way behind my interest in birds. By 1976 I had become a devotee of Dungeness and its bird observatory, and was aware that, apart from birds, some of my fellow shingle-crunchers were also interested in other natural history orders. The warden, Nick Riddiford, had compiled a card-index of moths, their lifeless wings taped to small cards, his spidery writing naming each species. I flicked through them and was most taken by the Blood-vein, due to a combination of name and looks - I quite fancied seeing one of those. Life at Dungeness opened me up to being regularly assailed by the odd moth, normally a hawk-moth found on a wall, but these interludes were nothing more than that. It all changed in 1981.

In late May - early June of that year the warden at the time, Dorian Buffery, went off on a short holiday leaving me to act as his deputy warden. With me, as an able assistant, was Sean Clancy, who had brought with him an actinic moth trap. This was put out each night in the moat and I was a willing observer as he checked the egg trays each morning to count and identify the moths that had been captured. How on earth he knew what was what was beyond me, but as the week wore on I found myself increasingly looking forward to this 'moth time'. I had a soft spot for the localised and striking White Spot, a Dungeness speciality - there was something in this mothing lark after all, beyond just random casual acquaintances with hawk-moths on piles of washing. On return home I ordered the two volumes of South, at the time the only identification guide to the larger moths available, even though the plates and text were from the turn of the century. However, these were soon placed next to the Observer's book on the shelf to gather dust.

The dam burst in 1984. Two things happened. Number one, Bernard Skinner's Moth book was published, a revelation with every species of larger moth photographed, identification features discussed and up to date status given. Number two, I saw my first MV in action. It was placed in the Dungeness Bird Observatory back garden and I had never seen so many moths in my life - they formed a blizzard around the 125w bulb, flooding into the trap or landing on the ground and walls all around it. Included in the enormous haul was a Blood-vein. My mind was made up - I might not have the place to run an MV trap at home, but I could operate one of the far less antisocial actinic traps. Within a week or two I was running one in the grounds of an old peoples home close to my second floor flat in south Sutton. This trap served me well until, with my own garden, I was able to upgrade to an MV in 1990. And even today, 50 years later, I cannot see an Elephant Hawk-moth without thinking back to that individual that decided to rest on a pile of washing during the summer of 1973.