Opinion
It’s 2006 and I’m sitting in St Paul’s Cathedral, London, as nervous as I’ve ever been. I am supposed to be sharing the podium with Sir David Attenborough. The topic: the climate crisis.
The cathedral is packed with a crowd of thousands. With minutes to go, there’s still no sign of David, and I’m certain that they haven’t turned up to hear me. The chaplain says that we must start, so I mount the podium, shaking, and begin explaining how carbon dioxide helps regulate Earth’s temperature and climate.
And then, up the central aisle strides David, and I relax enough to complete my oration.
David replaces me at the podium. His speech is brief and to the point: the climate crisis is real, and we must act. I look into the crowd, at the thousands of upturned, adoring faces, and understand that David Attenborough is the most-loved man in the world. That realisation will return to me as David marks his 100th birthday on Friday.
With our event at St Paul’s over, he told me that he had been in Bristol, recording voice-over for a documentary, when he was reminded that he had promised to appear with me. His driver broke all records, and perhaps a few rules, to get there.
A year earlier I had told David that I was giving up my research in zoology to take up the cause of climate change, explaining that if we didn’t stop runaway greenhouse gas emissions, the new species of mammals I was discovering in New Guinea might not survive. He seemed impressed, and later, when I asked him to speak with me in St Paul’s, he agreed. It was the first time I recall him speaking publicly about climate change.
We live half a world apart but have maintained a friendship for more than 40 years. I never visit London without letting him know, and most often we meet for dinner, or at least morning tea. I never laugh as much as when I’m in his company.
Of course, there’s the serious business of the latest science, or the latest documentary, or perhaps rare books about New Guinean zoology or history to discuss (we are both rabid bibliophiles). But then the laughing starts. Sometimes a look of mock horror comes over his face when he discovers I don’t own a copy of some obscure book. “You call yourself a book collector,” he’ll say. “I don’t mean a copy signed by the author … but not even an ex-library copy? How extraordinary!”
In 1998 I named a species of echidna for David. I knew that monotremes hold a special place in his heart and couldn’t think of a more fitting tribute. Only a single specimen of Attenborough’s long-beaked echidna was known at the time and we both feared that the species was extinct.
But a quarter of a century later, in 2023, I received news that a sighting had been made. I was staying with a friend who was flat-sitting in London when my friend received a text message from the flat’s owner, asking whether he knew where Tim Flannery was as he had an important message to pass on. Researchers in Indonesian Papua had captured images of Sir David’s echidna and wanted to let him know.
It was miraculous timing, for I had arranged to meet David the following morning. When we met and I showed him the clip of “his” echidna, the most beatific smile lit up his face. “Do you mean to say that it’s not extinct?” he beamed.
That I happened to be in London was an extraordinary coincidence, as if the forces of the cosmos had acted to reward a man who so richly deserved it.
One of the most astonishing things about David, and the reason he stays so young, is that he is always eager to learn. Each of his nature documentary series involves a PhD’s worth of research, all done by himself, and he has moved with the times in terms of technology, mastering each new development of film- and documentary-making as it arises.
The one thing that never changes about him is his humility. He once told me that the secret to making great natural history documentaries was to allow nature to be the star of the show. He sees himself as merely the presenter. In a world full of self-promoters, that lesson is perhaps the most important one he has to offer younger scientists, filmmakers and writers.
Happy birthday, David!
Professor Tim Flannery is a distinguished visiting fellow at the Australian Museum, where he leads climate change research, communication and education. He is a former climate commissioner and chief councillor at the Climate Council.
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Professor Tim Flannery is a former climate commissioner, chief councillor at the Climate Council and one of Australia’s leading writers on climate change.