W.R.M. Do you consider enough is being done to conserve
our countryside, and if not, what direction should our
efforts take?
E.F.W. I find this difficult to answer, because I
believe that it is possible to overdo one's putting it over
to the general public. I think they can get tired of the
subject. I'm not, of course, speaking of naturalists. I'm
speaking of the ordinary people, who understand obvious
pollution, but don't understand that a crowd of people
walking over an area of country can do irreparable damage, I
find this very difficult, — I think there's got to be some
sort of middle way. I think if people become fed up to the
teeth with something they tend to become antagonistic
towards it. I think that zealots are always a bit of a pest.
We have got to try and take a middle course.
W.R.M. Have you any secret ambitions that you'd like
to have fulfilled in the world of natural history?
E.F.W. Well, I've often thought that I'd like to write
a history of the butterflies and moths of this country, and
perhaps of this part of the country, particularly Essex. I
don't think I'm likely to do this because it is now quite
apparent that one ought not to disclose the localities of
anything that is in the least bit rare, and therefore there
seems to be little point in doing so. However, I am helping
in a panel of entomologists who are engaged in compiling a
list of the Lepidoptera of Essex, and I expect my efforts
towards authorship will be confined to that.
W.R.M.. I'm interested in what you say about not
disclosing the whereabouts of rareties, because you have so
many naturalists on your side in this. What is it, do you
think, that makes a person go and take a rarity?
E.F.W. I think because that person is really a very
unimportant person, and wants to appear important in his own
eyes. And also he shows a total lack of regard for the
future of that rare species. He simply doesn't care.
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