Natural Museum

The main hall of the Natural History Museum soars less dramatically than a Gothic nave, but otherwise isn’t unlike one. Light comes from high windows; there are upper galleries and chapel-like alcoves; and it is dominated by a statue in white marble of the local deity – Charles Darwin – who looks down at a huge dinosaur skeleton from the landing of the staircase that rises in a double flight at the north end. Darwin’s ideas are so central to biology that there is no wall of fossils, case of stuffed birds, diagram of genetic inheritance, animated dinosaur, laboratory or educational scheme in the museum that does not draw on, elaborate, or take its meaning from them. The whole building is a Darwin exhibition. That presents problems when you want to do something special to celebrate his 200th birthday.In 1963 we bought a house in Southfields, a few hundred yards from the All England Lawn Tennis Club. Every year since then we have, for a fortnight, had to elbow our way crossly through tides of tennis fans. During those weeks, Wimbledon Park, which lies beyond the wall at the end of our street, is given over to cars. That invasion irritates me as much as the human traffic. The park is shared space, but it is our shared space. I resent the intrusion. It is not grand landscape: it is bordered on one side by the raised track of the District Line, on the other by Wimbledon Park golf course, and is laid out in sports pitches and a running track. But it’s a good place to throw a ball about and does have a lake where, once in a while, I check out the wildfowl.Over the years the population has changed. Canada geese came years ago; now there are also Egyptian geese, and what I think are pink-foot geese. One winter I watched shoveller duck swimming round after each other in a circle. There are fewer tufted duck and mallard than there were. A couple of years ago, a pair of ruddy duck arrived: small, sexually aggressive stifftail ducks with bright blue bills.