Why British wildlife lovers have such a soft spot for butterflies
A surprising number of people responded to the National Trust's competition on butterflies with tales of 'epiphany moments'
Over the past 25 years a minor social revolution has occurred. Quietly and subtly, butterflies have become acceptable, if not quite cool. No longer is butterflying the domain of eccentric loners, and no more are people loath to admit their interest. If proof was needed, it came last autumn, when the National Trust website ran a competition asking people to write about what butterflies meant to them. We were not expecting too much, and we had had no intention of analysing the submissions - but the extent of the response forced us to do so. Clearly, many, many people value butterflies greatly.
Studies by social scientists into people's relationships with nature have highlighted the importance of early childhood experiences, or "epiphany moments". This finding was reflected in our sample, with 70% of contributors stating that their interest in butterflies, and nature generally, began in childhood, usually between the ages of five and 10. One contributor, Ann Chapman, summarised this simply and succinctly: "Butterflies", she said, "just remind me of my childhood."
As the poet John Masefield put it, butterflies are "the souls of summer hours". In working to conserve them, we are perhaps conserving an essential part of ourselves.
The most remarkable of our rather accidental findings concerned the extent to which people had had profound experiences to do with butterflies. Three people wrote in to say how butterflies had helped them to come to terms with the loss of a loved one. Philippa Gordon wrote: "I was seven and my grandpa had just died. I was at the funeral ... when we noticed two butterflies high in the church rafters, caught in a beam of sunlight. What made this so special was that at my granny's funeral (earlier) ... we had noticed just one butterfly alone in the church."
My own diary for 13 April 2005 states: "A holly blue flew above mother's coffin as it was being lifted from the hearse, a male brimstone joined in and both accompanied her through the lych gate." Not for nothing did the ancient Greeks associate the soul or psyche with the image of a butterfly, conveying beauty and the freedom of the spirit.
Jungle warfare
In a different environment from the English church and graveyard, Tim Helps wrote an account of jungle warfare training with an element of butterfly: "We were awaiting the order to attack," he wrote. "I was lying on my stomach... It was love at first sight. Like an operatic prima donna held in the spotlight, the koh-i-noor morpho butterfly alighted on a leaf lit up by the sun's rays... the order came through to advance... With a single click of her wings, she was up and away... I have not forgotten her."
Several recalled discovering butterflies as wartime evacuees, including June Smedley, who remembered seeing a cabbage white in the Dig for Victory effort and then, on returning home: "I might have believed I had come to fairyland. The bombsites had sprouted mini-forests of buddleia and these were covered by dancing clouds of multicoloured fluttering creatures." She experienced similar vistas around a Kent shingle beach guarded by signs saying: "Mines. Keep out." A rainbow cloud of butterflies celebrated the protection the mines afforded.
It is clear that butterflies can act as a major conduit into nature - a world so vast, beautiful and awesome that we need a hand to hold. In addition to being an essential part of the garden experience, our scarcer butterflies guide us into the heart of the most wondrous landscapes, in the best of seasons and weathers. They seldom, if ever, take us into desolate environments. Our top butterfly sites are staggeringly lovely places (such as Compton Bay on the Isle of Wight and Arnside Knott in Cumbria), and surprisingly few suffer from traffic-noise pollution.
As the poet John Masefield put it, butterflies are "the souls of summer hours". In working to conserve them, we are perhaps conserving an essential part of ourselves. My personal motto is "Never underestimate a butterfly" (or, in bad Latin, "Papilio nunquam minoris aestimate"). The pursuit of these beautiful creatures is highly addictive. The passion I hold for them, inspired by a maths master in the 1960s, is far from unique - but it's rather nice to know that I am not alone.
This article first appeared in the summer issue of the National Trust magazine. Matthew Oates is the trust's specialist on invertebrates, its chief butterflyer and the author of 'Butterflies', published by the National Trust.
