The primatologist, 88, on why animals need names, the last time she cried properly (1969), looking forwards to life after death and looking back at being a four-year-old scientist
The scientist in me was evident early on. At four, desperate to know how eggs come out of chickens, I hid inside a hen house waiting to witness it. When I finally returned, Mum had called the police. I’d been missing for hours. Instead of punishing me, she listened intently to my discoveries.
I was jealous of Tarzan’s Jane as a child. Yes, I know they were fictional. But I still felt spurned he didn’t pick me.
