Fiona McCade: Another human-primate link is found: toddler tantrums

Published on Monday 16 March 2009 18:59

ACCORDING to my husband, the worst noise in the world is the sound of a baby crying. Personally, I'd rather listen to a screeching infant than gangsta rap, but I appreciate his point. The cry of the human child has evolved over several million years for the sole purpose of making the listener drop everything immediately and give the baby exactly what it wants.

And it works because, after all those millennia, children have come to realise that tweeting like chicks, or mewing like kittens is not going to get our attention. Human kids simply aren't cute enough for such passive-aggressive tactics.

So, straightforward hollering until they split the nearest eardrum it is – but it seems that human babies aren't the only ones exploiting their adults' desire for a quiet life.

A new study of rhesus macaque monkeys has shown that not only do little macaques understand the power their lungs can wield over their hapless parents, they have also cleverly worked out that time and place are just as important as volume.

The study proved that if the baby macaques threw a tantrum, they were twice as likely to get their mothers' attention if they did so in front of other monkeys. So that's what they did.

The primatologist from London's Roehampton University who led the research said: "The baby monkeys' cries are high pitched, grating and nasty to listen to, not just to their mother, but to other animals nearby.

"The mothers seem reluctant to give in to their infants, but when there are big, dominant animals around that pose a threat to either them or their infants, their hand is forced – they have to give in to their infants' cries."

Hands up who has ever done the supermarket shopping with an under-five – does the macaque scenario sound familiar? Replace the "big, dominant animals" with irritated fellow shoppers; scornful, child-free onlookers and self-proclaimed, amateur child psychologists and you have my life. (Except that I don't do supermarket shopping with my under-five any more. It was way too stressful. I'd rather raid bins.)

I feel for those macaque mothers, because even though they never have to run the gauntlet of the sweet selection next to the till, they still have to endure their children deliberately making a scene. Both monkey and human tots have reached the cynical conclusion that mummy will be a quicker pushover if she feels she's being publicly judged.

My brat is slower than a rhesus macaque, but he had worked out that a tantrum when out on the town is worth two in the home by the time he was 18 months old. I remember a hideous time on a crowded single-decker bus, one evening rush hour. The passengers were packed so tight we could hardly breathe, so he realised he had a captive audience and behaved accordingly.

He demanded a chocolate frog; I refused. He then threw the screaming fit of the century. I got him off the bus, but he took advantage of the fact I only have two arms to break free and throw himself down on the pavement in front of the busy bus stop. I had two options: leave him to tire himself out, as I would at home, or I could take responsibility for the return of normality and give many tired commuters a break from stepping over his prone, screeching, tomato-faced form.

I reasoned that this was neither the time nor the place for a lesson in discipline, so I hauled him away – but once we got home, his whole world became the naughty step.

I don't remember if anyone on the bus – or off it – looked disapproving. I was too mortified on my own account to care. I have no "big, dominant animals" to fear, but wherever possible, I will strive to alleviate the suffering of innocent bystanders.

I'd like to explain to the macaques that it's a clear-cut case of do-as-you-would-be-done-by and being faced with a public outburst doesn't necessarily mean instantly jettisoning the rules of good parenting. Just quickly remove (coerce; drag) your offspring from the ground zero of the tantrum and once you're somewhere quiet, give 'em hell.

However, although I feel I could help the macaques, they have already helped me. Now I know this problem is so universal it transcends species, I'm wondering why human adults don't exploit it more. Next time you're in a busy restaurant and want quicker service, throw a wobbly worthy of an infant primate. Go on, try it. Science has proved it works.