Welcome to a ’Wild, Wonderful World’ at the Natural History Museum Denmark.

Written by Bethany Palumbo, Head of Conservation, Natural History Museum Denmark.

Dodo Model at the Wild, Wonderful World Exhibition (© Andreas Haubjerg NHMD)

In June 2024, the Natural History Museum Denmark opened a new temporary exhibition titled ‘Wild, Wonderful World or ‘Vilde, Vidunderlige Verden’ in Danish. The exhibition presents the colourful, authentic stories behind specimens, and introduces new perspectives on how to think about nature and the significance of the natural history collections.

For the past several years, temporary exhibitions at the museum had all been loaned exhibitions from other institutions. We decided that this one would instead be entirely from our own historical collections, with some of the specimens on display dating as far back as 400 years. This blog post will present 3 fascinating object stories from the exhibition that I am especially excited to share.

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Bryozoans on the Move: Trials and Challenges of Packing Collections.

Written by Abbie Herdman, Curator of Invertebrates (Non-Insects), Natural History Museum, London.

The Natural History Museum, London (NHM) is currently undertaking one of the biggest collections moves in history, around 38 million specimens total (with 28 million moving off site). A diverse range of collections are expected to move to the new site in Reading including fossils, wet, dry, taxidermy and osteological specimens. This blog will focus on some examples and challenges faced when preparing the bryozoan collections to move.

Bryozoans are an astounding yet little known phylum of predominantly colonial aquatic invertebrate animals, found in both freshwater and marine ecosystems. Known as the ‘moss animals’, for a long time, they were thought to be plants which still confounds the record of this group in aquatic collections due to their growth patterns encrusting on rocks, as seaweed-like and sometimes as gelatinous blobs. There are bryozoan reefs which support diverse marine species, they are recognised bioindicators in aquatic habitats and are ‘blue carbon’ stores (Porter, J, S. et al., 2020).

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Dropping a Pin on the Salter Collection

Written by George Seddon-Roberts, PhD Student, John Innes Centre, work completed whilst on placement as a Curatorial Intern at Amgueddfa Cymru – Museum Wales.

When accessing an entomology collection, there are a few things that a researcher can expect to find. Each specimen should be pinned with labels describing its species and information about where it was collected – two valuable pieces of information which can help researchers to trace the specimen’s origin geographically and in time. Knowing where and when a specimen was collected can help researchers better understand the historical landscape and ecology and make predictions into the future. However, when collections receive specimens from private collectors, this standard of labelling might not be met. As part of a 3-month internship at Amgueddfa Cymru – Museum Wales, I aimed to transform one such collection.

The collection in context 

John Henry Salter (1862-1942) was an academic and naturalist, who spent much of his life as a lecturer at University College of Wales in Aberystwyth, where he would later be appointed as the first Professor of Botany. Outside of academia, Salter was a prolific collector of insects across several groups, most notably including coleoptera (beetles) and lepidoptera (butterflies and moths). Salter’s collection contains specimens from across Wales, as well as England, Tenerife and south-east France; regions where he spent time during his retirement. The specimens, which amount to over 15,000 individuals, were meticulously recorded in field logs by Salter, which were also donated to the museum with the collection.  

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Mary De La Beche: Lady Lepidopterist

Written by Kanchi Mehta, 2nd year BSc student, Swansea University, whilst on placement at National Museum Cardiff and Swansea Museum.

Born in Swansea in June 1839, the young Mary grew up in a house where she had every freedom. Taught in politics, photography, languages, art and science, young Mary was a smart, outspoken, and opinionated girl. As she grew up, she learnt from her father, Lewis Llewelyn Dillwyn, in the forests and beaches around Swansea. Over the years, she took a particular interest in the biology around her family home and kept that interest throughout her life.

She married in Sketty Church to John Cole Nicholl in 1860. He shared her adoration for the outdoors and over the course of their honeymoon the couple went all over Europe seeing the sights, scaling every mountain they could and documenting it all in their diaries. Mary alone filled roughly six diaries with her thoughts on the nature she saw, the people she met and the languages she learnt all accompanied by her sketches. By the Christmas of 1860, the pair made it home with two puppies in tow, brought for Mary by John, and a baby on the way.

© Grandmother Extraordinary by Hilary M. Thomas
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Rediscovering the Hancock Coelacanth

Written by Dan Gordon, Keeper of Biology, The Great North Museum: Hancock.

For as long as I’d worked at the museum, there’d always been a Coelacanth. People referred to it in passing, pointing out the large tub of orange tinted spirit where it lurked. I’d always rather taken it for granted; an interesting but rather mundane specimen, and I’d never been curious enough to fish it out of the murky liquid and examine it.

That is, until 2018, when staff at the National Maritime Museum Cornwall got in touch about an exhibition they were putting together called Monsters of the Deep. They’d asked us about Coelacanth fossils and I mentioned the Coelacanth in the fish collection, which was greeted with some surprise. A real one…Would we consider a loan? And as I thought about this, I came to realise that I knew very little about the Coelacanth at all.

There was next to nothing in the catalogue about it, so I decided, firstly, to get a better look. This was easier said than done. The Coelacanth is over a metre long and weighed over 20kg, sitting in a container of tea coloured alcohol bigger than a bathtub. Reaching in, I ran my gloved fingers over its flanks, which had the texture of coarse sandpaper. Lifting it out was like wrestling an alligator, but eventually it emerged, a gaping mouth with small sharp teeth, a ragged tear through the flesh of its head, and the huge eyes of a deep-water dweller.

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