Attenborough 100

The 8th of May 2026 is David Attenborough’s 100th birthday.

Like many people my age, he’s been a hero of mine since I was a child, a constant in my life, and a true inspiration. His impact on my own life, my interests, and even where I live, has been profound, so I decided I’d post a little tribute of my own to go with the many I’m sure he will receive.

Happy 100th birthday Sir David!

I've always had a vivid imagination; I didn't need to watch or read anything scary in order to conjure up monsters. A moonlit tree, a flickering shadow was all that was required to summon up nightmarish creatures. My mom would always counter this by making light of things and convincing me that “there were no such thing as monsters”, but this only succeeded in reining in my imagination temporarily.

One day a well-spoken, well-dressed man called David appeared on my TV screen. He was talking animatedly about animals I'd never heard of, or seen before, giant creatures that lived long ago. They had sharp claws, enormous teeth, and they were as big as a bus. I felt vindicated, monsters did exist, I'd been lied to.

I now believed what David said above and beyond my parent’s weak explanations, after all, he was a scientist, he was on TV, he knew big words. Anyway, I decided that I'd like to learn more. Later that year, the travelling book library came to school and as a treat, I’d been given some money to buy a book. The other children typically crowded around the story books, the picture books, but I headed straight for the very books I wanted . . .  the science books, animals, dinosaurs! I bought a book called ‘The How and Why Wonder Book of Fossils’, it cost me 30 pence. I then spent the following weeks devouring this new, exciting information. Dinosaurs were not only real, but you could still find evidence of them in the rocks beneath our feet, all this time later! People discovered dinosaur bones, teeth, horns, and even fossilised poo! Amazing.

Soon after, my friend David appeared on the TV again, this time leafing through an enormous old book, talking about myths, legends, and fantastical creatures. This was a whole series called. . . “Fabulous animals”, and I was hooked. I used a whole week's pocket money to buy the book and before long I was an expert on mermaids, dragons, and monsters . . . all of which I knew were magical and made-up, but David brought them to life with his energy and enthusiasm.

Dinosaurs were still a huge part of my life. I amassed a hoard of small plastic models of them, and I'd begun to collect fossils myself too, some which I'd bought during a trip to the Natural History Museum, but many that I'd found myself at Wren’s Nest Hill, a quarry in Dudley. I used to go there on the bus on my own with just a plastic bag and a hammer, and then come home and bash the rocks open in the garden to see what I'd found!

When I was 9, David appeared on TV advertising his next series. It was a big-budget primetime show all about animals called “Life on Earth’. I eagerly watched every episode, captivated by both the creatures and my now famous friend. Then, on my 10th birthday I got the best of presents. Not only did I get the book that accompanied the series, I got to go to a signing! In my head, I'd already known David now for over 5 years, so it seemed rude to visit him without taking something, so I drew him a picture. I remember rolling it up and playing nervously with it while we waited in the queue. When it was our turn, everything happened so fast. I pushed my book forward, David scribbled his autograph, I smiled and then I pushed the scroll towards him saying “This is for you”. Everything slowed, he carefully took the picture, unrolled it like a precious document, gasped, and said “A Tyrannosaurus Rex if I've ever seen one.” I remember this, in my heart, like it was yesterday. My friend liked his present.

In my teenage years life took over. Exams, art, music, girls . . . but throughout this time two things from my childhood hung around. A love of animals and Natural History, and an interest in geology and fossils. When I began teaching in my early twenties, if I got any time off, I'd invariably head down to the Dorset coast and walk the famous beaches there, looking for ‘treasures’. I'd read about Lyme Regis as a boy, back in that first fossil book I bought. There was a whole page dedicated to Mary Anning, ‘the fossil girl of Lyme Regis’. So, this place already seemed familiar to me, even before I'd set foot here. When I decided to go freelance, I realised that it didn't really matter where I was based. Things would either work out, or not, regardless of where I was living. So, I moved to Lyme and began to get work and contacts in the Dorset area.

The local museum service arranged lots of exciting days for children, and soon I’d got myself into a number of the museums, making large scale prehistoric creatures or fossil skeletons. Then, one day, I had an exciting call. I'd done some work for Dorset County Museum constructing models of dinosaurs for their brand new ‘Jurassic Gallery’. The lady who I’d worked for asked if I'd like to come to the opening ceremony. I thought it might be useful for networking and then she dropped a bombshell, it's being opened by David Attenborough. Incredible! So, I found myself in a relatively small gallery space, drink in hand, alongside a small group of about sixty people, waiting for my old friend to arrive. When he appeared, you almost didn't notice him, quietly spoken, unassuming, gentle, with almost a shyness about him. He shuffled along shaking hands with the important guests and museum representatives and then he sat, waiting to speak. Other guests droned on through their introductions and thankyous, until finally, David was introduced and he rose to speak . . . and a light came on, not an electrical one, a light inside of him. He became what he is on television, he switched himself on, increased the volume, the sharpness, the contrast. He spoke beautifully, with charm, knowledge, and charisma. No notes, no pauses, no “erms” . . . eloquent, precise, and thoroughly captivating. It was at this point that I really understood why I've been fascinated by him as a child. He is, and always has been, a truly gifted communicator. Afterwards, I joined an excited line of young children that had formed to get his autograph. Funnily enough, just as I joined this impromptu queue, a group of other adults suddenly became brave too, and followed behind me. They were all clutching copies of David’s latest autobiography “Life on Air”, but what had I bought with me to be signed? My copy of ‘Fabulous Animals’ . . . 50 pence from WH Smiths in West Bromwich in 1975. When he saw it, he laughed and said, “A blast from the past”. He signed it swiftly and moved on. I began to wish I'd taken a rolled-up dinosaur drawing with me.

Strangely enough, like deja vu, I got another invite about five years later. Once again, I’d created work for the local museum. This time around, they'd acquired a very special new exhibit, an enormous Pliosaur skull, as big as a car, with teeth the size of bananas . . . the stuff of nightmares! I got another call . . . “We're having an unveiling . . . Attenborough’s coming!” Of course I went. Again, David spoke of his love of geology, of fossils, and of this specific coastline. I was mesmerised. I took my camera with me and only realised about 10 minutes in that I hadn't taken a single shot, I'd forgotten why I was there, his words had swept me up and I was a boy again. I didn't get anything signed this time or talk to David, I stood back, I thought others should have his time. I watched him though, watched with delight as he ignored the important dignitaries and chose to play peek-a-boo with some of the little children, his face becoming playful and animated like an ageing chimpanzee. They laughed, they wanted him to play more, they had no idea who he was, but they were drawn to him anyway.

About four years ago I made a decision. I'd collected fossils now for most of my life, and I had a small selection that were worthy of being professionally prepared. It's fairly costly, but I decided to spend some of my savings getting these specimens cleaned up. Preparators use special tools to remove the rock surrounding fossil specimens and to preserve what's there. I asked a local professional, Lizzie Hingley, to do this work for me. She's not only an expert, and a collector herself, but she's got an art background too, and I love her work. In the course of preparing one of these fossils, Lizzie realised that it was a lot rarer than I'd originally thought. Instead of being a cluster of bones from one of the many sea creatures found here, it was actually from a land animal, a Scelidosaur, one of a herd that had been washed out to sea in some ancient catastrophic event. Other specimens, of all different ages, have been discovered in this one specific location, but they’re rare. I was delighted; I’d found my own dinosaur! So, I thought, I'll tell David about it.

I wrote David a letter, included photos of the fossil that I'd found and told him about it, and how excited I was. Amazingly, he wrote back. A short note, but full of the excitement I expected.

“Thank you for your letter - and many congratulations on making such a remarkable find.” Best Wishes, David Attenborough

So, I had my third signature, the first in my ‘Life on Earth’ book from when David was 53 (and I was 10), the second in my ‘Fabulous Animals’ book, when he was 80 (and I was 37), and this short note, signed by him, aged 96 (when I was 53, coincidentally, the same age as he’d been when I’d first met him in 1979).

In my letter to him, I couldn't let the opportunity pass without explaining a little about what he meant to me, so at the bottom I signed off like this . . .

Sir David inspired me to be interested, and curious, and to look closely at what surrounded me. He taught me to be patient, and to find beauty in the smallest and simplest of things. He gave me a love of nature, and an interest in our planet and all of its many secrets . . . and most of all, he taught me that monsters do exist . . . they were here long before we were.