When first identified, Neanderthals were viewed as merely primitive versions of humans. But there’s plenty they can teach us about surviving climate change

DAVID FARRIER

We will never know what language she spoke, but Nana’s smiling mouth and eyes say more than words ever could. The small boy at her side has flung his arms around her waist, his hair standing up like a cartoon Einstein’s, emphasising the mix of shyness and intelligence in his bright, dark eyes. It’s only later that you notice what’s different: the heavy brows, flat cheekbones and receding chins, the stocky bodies.

Despite their lifelike appearance, Nana and Flint are sculptures housed in the Gibraltar Museum. They are the work of Dutch “paleo-artists” Adrie and Alfons Kennis, who run the go-to studio for Neanderthal reconstructions. Their work has revolutionised our sense of how close we are to our departed cousins. Neanderthals vanished 40,000 years ago, having appeared about 700,000 years ago. For perhaps 5,000 years they lived alongside us Homo sapiens—an evolutionary blink, but an overlap equivalent to all written history from the age of the pyramids until today. And they remain our closest relatives. Nana’s pride at Flint’s embrace is something you’d see in any grandmother. The Kennis brothers’ aim is to present Neanderthals as individuals, but they also inspire a sense of connection: in her smiling contentment and his curiosity we see a kind of welcome. They seem to recognise us.

“Since the first discoveries at the height of European empire, when we have looked at our lost cousins we have unwittingly revealed our own reflection”

Such an empathetic representation may speak well of our times. According to archaeologist Clive Gamble, each age gets the Neanderthal that it either wants or deserves. Since they were first recognised as a distinct species in 1859, Neanderthals have tracked the prejudices, fears and hopes of succeeding generations. Charlie Chaplin’s 1914 film His Prehistoric Past, featuring the little tramp as “Weak-chin” in a fur leotard and iconic bowler hat, mocked the caveman stereotype. In the Warner Brothers’ 1963 cartoon Mad as a Mars Hare, space-travelling Bugs Bunny was changed into a brutish “Neanderthal Rabbit” by Marvin the Martian’s ACME “time-space gun.” In the peacenik days of the early 1970s, the discovery of pollen mixed among Neanderthal remains in northern Iraq led US archaeologist Ralph Solecki to propose they were the “first flower people.” From the first discoveries at the height of European empire, right through to today’s reappraisal as we stand on the cusp of a new age of extinction, when we have looked at our lost cousins, we have unwittingly revealed our own reflection.