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Sixty years of Attenborough through the eyes of the New Statesman

For more than half a century, the magazine has followed the broadcaster's work.

Read the New Statesman's most recent interview with David Attenborough, by Brian Cox and Robin Ince, here.

For almost 60 years, New Statesman critics have attempted to put into words the effect of seeing David Attenborough in his native habitat: the wild. “Attenborough is a lively, floor-pacing, arm-swinging magic lantern man, deftly imitating by turns a harassed traffic policeman, a Nonconformist minister searching for the clinching analogy and a district nurse on a bicycle,” wrote his fellow BBC grandee Dennis Potter in 1974.

It was Tom Driberg, in 1954, who first introduced NS readers to the “highly successful TV ‘personality’, whose casual, conversational manner conceals a deliberately studied technique”. When Jack Lester, curator of London Zoo’s reptile house, fell ill, Attenborough, then a producer, stood in to present the BBC2 series Zoo Quest. “In comparison with [him],” Driberg wrote, “many of the old troupers from the regular entertainment world seem intolerably brassy and two-dimensional.”

Following the groundbreaking Life on Earth (1979), Julian Barnes seemed somewhat perplexed to see the presenter squatting low behind a wall, observing the religious rituals of Indonesians in Spirit of Asia (1980). “This may be a productive style for creeping up on things we think we know too well and over-despise, like animals; indeed, part of the deserved success of Life on Earth derived directly from Attenborough’s guileless mixture of reverence and zeal. But the last episode of Life – which presented humans as if they were merely an advanced breed of problem-solving beast – was the least satisfactory, and in retrospect it’s easier to see why. People – unless they’re fossilised or preserved in peat, and enlivened with some label like protocrotojurassic – aren’t really Attenborough’s thing.”

After a blissfully quiet, though unfulfilling, stint as controller of BBC2 – “I asked what the policy should be, and they said: ‘That’s up to you, dear boy. You tell us’” – Attenborough became an outspoken critic of reforms to the licence-fee model. “The changes at the BBC are all market forces and marketing,” he told Mary Riddell in 1998. “Gets up my nose a bit, [and] I do have a frisson of despair at the standards.”

He still voices concern for the corporation. “It is crucially important for our society and [represents] the highest aspirations of our society. I’m appalled anybody thinks otherwise. If you remove the licence fee, it would be gone in a decade,” he told Sophie Elmhirst in 2011. But Attenborough, now 86, has recently taken to speaking out about a far more serious problem, that of overpopulation. Writing in the NS in April, Attenborough spoke with uncharacteristic force about ecosystems ruined by the arrival of man. “Anyone who believes in indefinite growth in anything physical, on a physically finite planet, is either mad – or an economist.”


Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 24 December 2012 issue of the New Statesman, Brian Cox and Robin Ince guest edit

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Geoffrey Howe dies, aged 88

Howe was Margaret Thatcher's longest serving Cabinet minister – and the man credited with precipitating her downfall.

The former Conservative chancellor Lord Howe, a key figure in the Thatcher government, has died of a suspected heart attack, his family has said. He was 88.

Geoffrey Howe was the longest-serving member of Margaret Thatcher's Cabinet, playing a key role in both her government and her downfall. Born in Port Talbot in 1926, he began his career as a lawyer, and was first elected to parliament in 1964, but lost his seat just 18 months later.

Returning as MP for Reigate in the Conservative election victory of 1970, he served in the government of Edward Heath, first as Solicitor General for England & Wales, then as a Minister of State for Trade. When Margaret Thatcher became opposition leader in 1975, she named Howe as her shadow chancellor.

He retained this brief when the party returned to government in 1979. In the controversial budget of 1981, he outlined a radical monetarist programme, abandoning then-mainstream economic thinking by attempting to rapidly tackle the deficit at a time of recession and unemployment. Following the 1983 election, he was appointed as foreign secretary, in which post he negotiated the return of Hong Kong to China.

In 1989, Thatcher demoted Howe to the position of leader of the house and deputy prime minister. And on 1 November 1990, following disagreements over Britain's relationship with Europe, he resigned from the Cabinet altogether. 

Twelve days later, in a powerful speech explaining his resignation, he attacked the prime minister's attitude to Brussels, and called on his former colleagues to "consider their own response to the tragic conflict of loyalties with which I have myself wrestled for perhaps too long".

Labour Chancellor Denis Healey once described an attack from Howe as "like being savaged by a dead sheep" - but his resignation speech is widely credited for triggering the process that led to Thatcher's downfall. Nine days later, her premiership was over.

Howe retired from the Commons in 1992, and was made a life peer as Baron Howe of Aberavon. He later said that his resignation speech "was not intended as a challenge, it was intended as a way of summarising the importance of Europe". 

Nonetheless, he added: "I am sure that, without [Thatcher's] resignation, we would not have won the 1992 election... If there had been a Labour government from 1992 onwards, New Labour would never have been born."

Jonn Elledge is the editor of the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric. He is on Twitter, far too much, as @JonnElledge.