Tuesday morning began in the Brand household with the usual mixture of rushing, breakfast, missing shoes and one small child insisting that something was “definitely not his fault” before anybody had actually accused him of anything.
Barry was sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal.
Marmaduke was sitting beside him.
Alfie was already dressed, already organised and already checking his school bag.
He had packed his homework.
His reading book.
His water bottle.
His PE kit.
And, for reasons that nobody quite understood, two sharpened pencils.
Barry looked at him.
“Why have you got two pencils?”
“In case one breaks.”
“You could just sharpen it.”
“That’s why I have two.”
Barry considered this.
“That’s too much planning.”
Alfie sighed.
“It’s called being prepared.”
Barry returned to his cereal.
“I’m prepared.”
“For what?”
“Breakfast.”
Mrs Brand walked into the kitchen with her coffee.
“Right, everyone. Shoes on in ten minutes.”
Barry looked up.
“What are we doing at school today?”
Marmaduke immediately answered.
“Bat Appreciation Month.”
Barry stopped chewing.
“Bats?”
“Yes.”
“Actual bats?”
“I think so.”
Alfie looked up from his book.
“Probably not actual bats in the classroom.”
Barry looked disappointed.
“Why not?”
“Because bats are wild animals.”
“So?”
“So you can’t just bring one into Reception.”
Barry thought about this.
“You could if you had a box.”
Mrs Brand slowly put her coffee down.
“No.”
“I was only asking.”
“You were thinking.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You absolutely were.”
Barry grinned.
Mrs Brand knew that grin.
It was the grin of a child whose brain had just opened a filing cabinet marked:
Things We Could Potentially Do That Adults Would Strongly Discourage.
At school, Mrs Abraham had transformed the Reception classroom.
There were pictures of bats everywhere.
Bat photographs.
Bat drawings.
A large poster showing different types of British bats.
There were diagrams waiting to be coloured.
There were worksheets.
There were books.
There were even little bat-shaped decorations hanging from the ceiling.
Barry walked in and stopped.
“This is brilliant.”
Marmaduke looked around.
“There are loads.”
Mrs Abraham smiled.
“Good morning, boys.”
“Good morning, Mrs Abraham,” said Marmaduke.
Barry pointed upwards.
“Did you put those up?”
“Yes.”
“Did you use a ladder?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have an adult?”
Mrs Abraham raised an eyebrow.
“I am an adult, Barry.”
Barry nodded.
“Good.”
Mrs Abraham smiled.
“Today we’re going to learn all about bats.”
Barry sat down.
Marmaduke sat beside him.
Barry looked at the bat poster.
“Do bats have birthdays?”
Mrs Abraham smiled.
“I suppose individual bats do.”
“How old can they get?”
“That depends on the species.”
Barry nodded.
“What do they eat?”
“Lots of different things. Many British bats eat insects.”
Barry looked impressed.
“So they’re like flying bug hunters.”
“Exactly.”
Marmaduke smiled.
“I like them already.”
Mrs Abraham put a video on the interactive screen.
The classroom went quiet.
The children watched bats flying through the night.
They swooped.
They turned.
They disappeared into darkness and reappeared moments later.
Barry’s mouth fell open.
“They’re REALLY fast.”
“They are,” said Mrs Abraham.
One bat flew close to the camera.
Barry leaned towards the screen.
“How does it know where it’s going?”
Mrs Abraham explained that bats use echolocation, producing sounds and listening for echoes to help them navigate and find food.
Barry looked amazed.
“So they’re using their ears like radar?”
“That’s one way of thinking about it.”
Barry turned to Marmaduke.
“That’s brilliant.”
Marmaduke nodded.
“If humans could do that, you wouldn’t need sat nav.”
Alfie, who was passing the classroom door on his way to Year 4, overheard.
“You’d still need it.”
“Why?”
“Because you’d probably crash into something while shouting.”
Barry considered this.
“Maybe.”
The next activity was colouring and labelling a bat diagram.
Mrs Abraham explained the different parts.
Wings.
Ears.
Eyes.
Body.
Feet.
Barry stared at the diagram.
“Where’s its face?”
Mrs Abraham pointed.
“There.”
“That’s its face?”
“Yes.”
“It looks like it knows something.”
Marmaduke laughed.
“What does that mean?”
Barry shrugged.
“It looks like it knows where you’ve hidden the biscuits.”
Mrs Abraham tried not to laugh.
She failed slightly.
The children began colouring.
Marmaduke carefully coloured his bat.
Barry coloured his bat too.
Unfortunately, Barry had decided that scientific accuracy was less important than artistic expression.
His bat was bright red.
With green ears.
Purple wings.
And yellow feet.
Mrs Abraham looked at it.
“That is certainly colourful.”
“It’s a special bat.”
“What sort of bat?”
“A rainbow bat.”
“Excellent.”
“It’s very rare.”
“I see.”
“It lives in a volcano.”
Mrs Abraham smiled.
“Does it?”
“Yes.”
Marmaduke looked at Barry’s picture.
“That’s not in the video.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They didn’t find my one.”
Fair enough.
Later that morning, the class had a special talk from the Bat Conservation Trust.
A speaker joined them and explained how bats are important, how they eat insects, where they live and why some species need protection.
The children listened.
They learned about roosts.
They learned that bats can squeeze through surprisingly small spaces.
They learned about different British species.
They learned that bats aren’t blind, despite the old saying.
Barry’s hand shot up.
“If they’re not blind, why do people say they’re blind?”
The speaker explained that bats actually have eyes and can see, but echolocation gives many insect-eating bats another remarkable way of navigating.
Barry nodded.
“So people just got it wrong.”
“Not quite,” said the speaker. “It’s an old saying.”
Barry nodded again.
“People do that.”
Mr Brand would later have absolutely no idea what this meant.
Then came the part that fascinated everyone.
Bat droppings.
The speaker showed the children some bat droppings and explained that scientists and conservationists can sometimes learn things from them, including clues about what bats have been eating.
The children leaned forward.
Barry looked horrified and fascinated at exactly the same time.
“You can tell what they ate from that?”
“Sometimes, yes.”
Barry looked at Marmaduke.
“That’s disgusting.”
Marmaduke nodded.
“But also quite clever.”
Barry looked back at the droppings.
“What did that one eat?”
The speaker explained that insect remains can sometimes be found in bat droppings.
Barry stared.
“So bats eat insects and then…”
Mrs Abraham interrupted gently.
“Yes, Barry.”
“And then they…”
“Yes.”
“And then scientists look at…”
“Yes, Barry.”
Barry nodded slowly.
“Science is disgusting.”
Mrs Abraham smiled.
“Science is sometimes surprising.”
Barry clearly preferred his version.
The speaker then explained something important.
Bats are wild animals and should not be handled.
If somebody finds a bat on the ground or somewhere it shouldn’t be, they shouldn’t pick it up.
The children were told that, very rarely, bats can carry bat lyssavirus, a virus related to rabies. A bite or scratch from an infected bat can potentially transmit it.
The speaker emphasised that this is extremely rare in the UK.
Barry’s eyes widened.
“Bats can give you rabies?”
“Bat lyssavirus can very rarely infect humans,” explained the speaker. “That’s why the safest thing is never to handle a bat.”
Barry immediately looked serious.
“So if you see a bat…”
“Don’t touch it.”
“Even if it’s cute?”
“Especially then.”
Barry nodded.
This was apparently important information.
“What if it asks you?”
Marmaduke giggled.
“It can’t ask you.”
Barry looked at him.
“You don’t know.”
“I think we’d know if a bat started talking.”
Barry considered this.
“Maybe it whispers.”
Mrs Abraham looked at the clock.
She had clearly decided not to investigate the possibility of talking bats.
The children learned what to do if they found a bat that appeared injured or was somewhere it shouldn’t be: keep their distance and tell an adult, who could seek appropriate advice.
Barry nodded solemnly.
“I’d tell Dad.”
Mr Brand, unaware of this new responsibility, was at work.
Probably answering emails.
Probably unaware that his four-year-old son was mentally preparing him for future bat emergencies.
After lunch, the class watched another video.
This one showed bats flying at dusk.
The children watched silently.
It was actually beautiful.
The bats flew across the evening sky, twisting and turning as they hunted insects.
Marmaduke whispered:
“They’re amazing.”
Barry nodded.
“They are.”
Then Barry looked thoughtful.
“Could we have bats in our garden?”
Mrs Abraham explained that bats could visit gardens, particularly where there are insects and suitable places for them to roost.
Barry’s face lit up.
“We could make our garden really good for bats.”
Marmaduke nodded.
“We could.”
“We could make a bat house.”
“Yes.”
“Then they’d come.”
“Maybe.”
Barry thought about this.
“Could we feed them?”
Mrs Abraham shook her head.
“No. We don’t feed wild bats.”
Barry nodded.
“Okay.”
He thought for another moment.
“What about biscuits?”
“No.”
“Just one?”
“No.”
“For Christmas?”
Mrs Abraham smiled.
“Definitely no biscuits.”
By home time, Barry had learned an astonishing amount.
He could explain echolocation.
He knew bats weren’t blind.
He knew many British bats ate insects.
He knew droppings could contain clues about what bats had eaten.
He knew bats were important.
And, most importantly, he knew not to touch one.
When Mr Brand arrived to collect the boys, Barry ran over.
“Dad!”
“Hello.”
“Bats can use their ears like radar.”
“Excellent.”
“They eat insects.”
“Good.”
“You can tell what they’ve eaten from their poo.”
Mr Brand paused.
“I see.”
“It’s science.”
“Of course.”
“And bats can very rarely give people rabies.”
Mr Brand nodded.
“That’s why you mustn’t handle a bat.”
“Exactly.”
Mr Brand smiled.
“You’ve had quite a day.”
Barry nodded.
“Can we get a bat house?”
“We’ll see.”
“And we need to make the garden good for insects.”
“We can think about it.”
“And if we find a bat, we don’t touch it.”
“Correct.”
Barry climbed into the car.
Marmaduke followed.
They were quiet for approximately twelve seconds.
Then Barry said:
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“If a bat lands on you, what do you do?”
“Stay calm and don’t try to grab it.”
Barry nodded.
“What if it lands on Marmaduke?”
Marmaduke looked alarmed.
“Why me?”
“I’m just asking.”
Mr Brand smiled.
“You both leave it alone and tell an adult.”
Barry nodded.
“Okay.”
He looked out of the window.
Then he smiled.
“I really like bats.”
Marmaduke nodded.
“Me too.”
Barry thought about his rainbow volcano bat.
“I think my bat was probably scientifically accurate.”
Mr Brand glanced in the mirror.
“I’m sure it was.”
“Mrs Abraham liked it.”
“I’m sure she did.”
“She said it was colourful.”
Mr Brand smiled.
“That’s teacher language for ‘Barry, this isn’t remotely what I asked you to draw.’”
Barry laughed.
And as they drove home through the London evening, Barry watched the sky carefully.
He was hoping to see a bat.
Not because he wanted to catch one.
Not because he wanted to stroke one.
And definitely not because he wanted to bring one home.
He just wanted to see one.
Because sometimes the best way to appreciate a wild animal is to leave it completely alone.
Which was an excellent lesson for Barry.
Although nobody was quite sure how long it would remain applicable once he discovered something else living behind the garden shed.
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