On a dreary, damp October afternoon, my curious two-year-old grandson stumbled upon a mysterious, dark object ensnared in a piece of netting by our pond. With his newly acquired vocabulary, he inquired, “What is that, Grandma?” It turned out to be a hedgehog. We attempted to free it gently, but it barely moved, appearing unwell. I cautioned my grandson against touching it due to its prickly nature. We decided to name the hedgehog Horace.
My husband, Kim, who hails from a lineage of Yorkshire veterinarians and typically displays a stoic demeanor towards animals, experienced a heartwarming shift in sentiment upon encountering the hedgehog. It was as if something straight out of a Tolkien novel had melted his heart. There was an inexplicable sense of something sturdy and good-natured, yet endangered about this creature from another realm. Peggy, the nearsighted hedgehog, found herself entangled in netting in our pond. Little did we know that her journey to recovery would be nothing short of miraculous.
Our small hedgehog made no sound as Kim gently cradled it in his hands and placed it in a cardboard box, while I set out some milk and bread. Admittedly, there were some errors in that sentence, but we had much to learn.
In that moment, our ancestral instincts kicked in. For Kim, it was a generational bond, and for the hedgehog, it was millions of years of survival. Kim made a phone call, fetched the box, and headed towards the car. He proclaimed that he was taking Horace to the hospital.
I couldn’t help but chuckle as I believed there was no such thing as a hedgehog hospital. Who would take a hedgehog on a Sunday evening? It seemed best to leave it overnight and assess its condition in the morning. Unfortunately, there were also three mistakes in that sentence.
To my surprise, there indeed existed a hedgehog hospital, which was part of a network of caring individuals, foster parents, advocates, and policymakers dedicated to these prickly creatures. Even in the midst of a pandemic in October 2021, this structured system of hedgehog welfare made me realize the deep cultural, literary, historical, and psychological significance of hedgehogs in our lives.
After all, a pet hedgehog served as the inspiration for Beatrix Potter’s beloved character, Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle, portrayed with delightful roundness and a charming little pinafore. With her comical illustration in 1904, Potter transformed the perception of hedgehogs from being regarded as dirty and disease-ridden to treasured and endearing beings.
Our “hospital” turned out to be Emma’s Hedgehog Hotel, nestled down a farm track on the outskirts of King’s Lynn, near our home in East Anglia. Emma, a veterinary nurse, and her husband Mark opened their living room to hedgehogs in need, providing them with boxes lined with shredded newspaper as they recovered from illness or injury.
As the hospital documented the triumphs and tragedies of these hedgehog patients on social media platforms like Facebook and Instagram, my attention was diverted elsewhere. My 92-year-old father had endured a significant heart failure and was hospitalized. Due to Covid regulations, visits were forbidden, so I would leave him daily notes and a copy of The Times. The fate of a hedgehog seemed to be just the right story—neither too serious nor too burdensome—as a source of hope and recovery.
The hospital was operating at full capacity. A doctor demonstrated the motion of a healthy heart with his accordion-like hand gestures, followed by a demonstration of a heart after failure—barely moving at all. On the very night I would release Peggy back into the wild, my father passed away. In my book, “The Hedgehog Diaries,” I candidly recount my father’s death.
Behind a curtain in the hospital ward, my father lay tethered to wires, struggling for breath. If he remained at the hospital, he would most likely pass away alone amidst the chaos of the Covid emergency. We made the decision to move him to a nursing home where we could visit him, as restrictions had eased by then.
I went to his house to gather his belongings. His favorite armchair stood beside a side table adorned with his reading glasses, a folded copy of The Times, stacks of books on birds, classical music, and the Church, as well as his trusty binoculars. It was a snapshot of his essence. A piece of old-style Radio 4.
My sister and I drove to the hospital to collect him. There he sat, dressed but with hollow eyes and unshaven, in a wheelchair. A nurse, exhausted from her double shift due to staff shortages, assisted us in getting him into the car. It was in these moments that I learned the true essence of compassion—the essential quality that emerged during the pandemic.
“Am I going home?” my father uttered. We reminisced about the upcoming spring as a metaphor for hope, and we shared the remarkable recovery of Peggy, who had since been renamed when Emma discovered her true gender. Emma messaged to update us on Peggy’s weight gain, and our daughter sent a gif of a hedgehog in the back of a car wearing a seatbelt.
Sometimes, it is easier to discuss hedgehogs. For my friend Jane Byam Shaw, they became a means of finding solace amidst the agony of losing her son.
In the summer of 2014, Jane’s 14-year-old son, Felix, went on a vacation to France with family friends and never returned. He tragically succumbed to a rare form of meningitis. In Jane’s last conversation with him, he sounded disoriented and wanted to come home. Although Jane is not religious, she recognizes the comforting and spiritual power of nature. Felix had a fascination with dusk, exploring the bushes near their home in north Oxford with a flashlight, hoping to spot a hedgehog. He possessed an instinct for observing the natural world—an extraordinary gift.
In the days following his passing, Jane would lie on Felix’s bed, staring blankly at the open window. Surprisingly, she began to notice butterflies landing on her arm. In the weeks that followed, she continued to encounter butterflies in his room.
One hot summer afternoon, she came across a confused and wobbly hedgehog on the lawn. Jane took it to the hedgehog hospital, realizing that it was something she and Felix had done together. This experience sparked a newfound dedication to hedgehogs. Jane visited me during my tenure as the editor of London’s Evening Standard to discuss her plan for creating hedgehog highways. I remember being in awe of her determination to care, even in the face of such tremendous grief. Accompanying her was an expert in the field named Hugh Warwick, whom I later discovered to be the David Attenborough of the hedgehog world.
Hugh informed her that she would need a patch of land the size of two golf courses to make a meaningful impact. Undeterred, Jane purchased a massive power drill and began creating hedgehog highways by drilling through the robust brick walls of Oxford gardens. In the process, she engaged with her neighbors, uncovering communities of various ages, and delved deeper into the natural world.
Felix’s empathy towards all living beings extended beyond nature, encompassing those who suffered misfortune. Inspired by his compassionate spirit, Jane and her husband, Justin, established the Felix Food Project, collecting surplus food from shops and restaurants and distributing it to food banks and shelters.
It wasn’t until much later that I stumbled upon the world of hedgehogs and uncovered their representation in poetry, philosophy, faith, and even in times of war. People turn to hedgehogs as symbols of innocence, mystery, purpose, bravery, peace, and balance.
The hedgehog is symbolic of NATO, standing with its chest out, marching forward, its back bristling against any threat. It embodies the spirit and resilience of allies defending themselves against aggressors—a peaceful creature that defends itself when attacked.
The British Hedgehog Preservation Society, with patrons like Dame Twiggy and Ann Widdecombe, measures societal progress by evaluating hedgehog friendliness.
Rory Stewart, the conservative politician and diplomat, has addressed the House of Commons on matters of foreign policy, security, and the nature of democracy. However, his most-watched speech on YouTube is the one he delivered in November 2015 about hedgehogs. He believes there is something magically captivating about these creatures. In a world filled with fractious politics and binary divisions, hedgehogs provide a subject that allows people to soften, converse, and connect on a human level.
In conclusion, hedgehogs hold a special place in our hearts and culture. These small creatures with their adorable bristles have captured the imagination of poets, philosophers, and everyday individuals alike. They remind us to find solace in the natural world, to embrace compassion, and to appreciate the beauty of simplicity.
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