‘Well?’ I said anxiously. ‘Can you hear anything?’
‘Not really,’ said Mike. ‘There’s a sort of double thump which might possibly be a baby’s heartbeat as well, but she’s not exactly lying in the right position. If she was sitting up a bit more it would help.’
Jeremy tried to get Bali to sit up, which Bali had no intention of doing. She liked lying as she was, and was quite happy to lie there and let this strange man poke about at her tummy all day long if it gave him any pleasure. We managed to shift her a little bit to one side, and Mike tried again. Again, he could hear a faint double thump that might or might not have been a baby’s heartbeat, but he couldn’t be sure. So there we had to leave it. Mike came out of the cage and dusted the straw off his immaculate suit.
‘I can’t tell definitely,’ he said. ‘I would have thought that she was pregnant, but really, from the position she was lying in, I couldn’t get a conclusive heartbeat. I’m afraid you’ll just have to sit it out.’
Which is what we did. Bali continued to grow rounder and rounder, and more and more placid and lethargic. Then, one day, Jeremy went into the mammal house first thing in the morning and, to his great distress, found that Bali had given birth and that the baby was dead. He got it out of the cage and examined it. Our estimate of the length of Bali’s pregnancy must have been wrong for the baby, although perfectly formed, was obviously premature and this was one of the reasons why it had been stillborn. But this is not a very uncommon occurrence among first births with wild animals of any sort. What did cheer us up, to a certain extent, was the fact that we had thought that Bali was still too young to breed, and yet she’d had what would have been a very fine, healthy baby. So we kept our fingers crossed and hoped for better luck next time.
I think Bali must have rather enjoyed the extra fuss and attention that was made over her when she was pregnant, because it wasn’t long afterwards that she started to display all the symptoms of pregnancy again. Once again she was cosseted; she was separated from her husband; she was given every delicacy we could think of, and, once again, the kind man came and crawled into the cage with her and pressed his stethoscope all over her stomach – without any result. We kept her apart from Oscar until it was well after the time when she should have had the baby if she was going to have it. We decided that this time it was a false pregnancy, which indeed is what it proved to be, because as soon as she was put back with Oscar, her tummy went down and so did her breasts. We were extremely annoyed that she had had us on like that, but we are still hoping that one day she will give birth successfully.
Spring had come again and, once again, the thing that occupied the minds of both Shep and myself, to the exclusion of practically everything else, was the breeding of the White-eared pheasants. The cock bird still had a severe limp and we didn’t for a moment think that he would be able to tread the hen. We investigated the possibilities of artificial insemination. Now while this is quite common with domestic birds, little work has been done on it in wild ones, and although we got the most expert advice we could from both the Continent and England, the consensus of opinion was that, as we only had a pair of them and they were such rarities, the risk involved would be too great. We would just have to leave them and hope to goodness that the cock’s leg would get better so that one day we might get some eggs from the hen.
About this time I went on my annual holiday to Greece. Of course, whenever I go away it is never entirely a ‘holiday’, for I generally seize the opportunity to try to write a book during these periods when I’m away from the telephone and other interruptions and can concentrate properly. So I lolled about in the Greek sunshine, enjoying the spring flowers and the olive groves, and then we made our way back, slowly, across France, eating like pigs. Catha and Jeremy kept me informed by letter of what was going on in my absence, and if anything was urgent they always knew where they could telephone me so that I would fly back immediately. But fortunately this wasn’t necessary. Jeremy had done a marvellous swap with the Smithsonian Institute in Washington and had got us several different species of Tenrec – strange little hedgehog-like insectivores from Madagascar which were all on the danger list – and so we were very pleased to have these breeding groups. When we got half-way across France we decided we would telephone Catha to find out how the Tenrecs were getting on and to tell her roughly when we were due to make landfall in Jersey. I was sitting at the dinner table with Jacquie, trying to make up my mind whether I was going to start with écrevisses flambées or snails, and sipping meditatively at a nice dry white wine, when the waiter told us that the call we had put through to Jersey had come through.
‘I’ll take it,’ said Jacquie, as she got up and left the table, and I continued my mouth-watering perusal of the menu. Presently she came back and from the exuberant look on her face I could tell immediately that something exciting had happened.
‘What’s the news?’ I said.
‘You’ll never guess!’
‘Well, come on. I don’t want to have to muck around guessing. Tell me.’
‘It’s the White-eareds,’ she said. ‘They’ve laid nineteen eggs and Shep’s hatched fourteen of them.’
It is difficult to describe the sensations that I felt at that moment. The first was of sheer disbelief; the second a tremendous thrill that ran through my whole body because, if we successfully reared fourteen White-eared pheasants, it would mean that we would have the largest breeding stock known outside China. And if the bird was, indeed, extinct in the wild state, we were now in a position to establish it firmly in captivity and thus save it, as a species, from total extinction. At last the Trust was fulfilling the function for which I had created it. We had a glorious meal and drank far too much wine to celebrate, and the whole of the next day, as we drove through the lovely French countryside, I was thinking to myself: Fourteen of them! Fourteen of them! . . . Sixteen, with the adult pair . . . And if she does as well next year . . . My God! We’ll be able to distribute them to all the zoos so that we don’t have all our eggs in one basket. I hope to heaven that they don’t all turn out to be one sex . . . We’ll have to have some special aviaries for them. It’s absolutely essential . . .
So, filled with all these exciting thoughts, we reached the coast and crossed over to Jersey. As soon as I got to the zoo I sent for Shep.
‘What’s all this I hear?’ I said, ‘about you killing off all the White-eared pheasants?’
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Whole lot dead. Sorry about it, but there it is. Can’t be helped.’
‘Come on, you coot,’ I said, ‘let’s go and look at them.’
So he took me up to the special pens where the broody hen was clucking round the pheasant chicks which were by now a week or so old. They were all fine, sturdy, little youngsters and as Shep had taken great precautions to keep them on absolutely clean ground, we felt sure that with luck we could rear the whole lot. I took Shep up to the flat and opened a bottle of champagne, and we solemnly toasted each other and the White-eared pheasants. It was a great moment of triumph for us after all the heartbreak and the setbacks that we’d had ever since we’d got the birds.
9. Digging up Popocatepetl
The display is made so much more attractive and beautiful because of the imposing panorama of the mountainous ranges whose hills, in whimsical manner, make up a true marvel of Nature. Added to this, is the warm climate and the flora and fauna of the place.
Mexican Guide Book
One day, when I had finished reading the mail and was skimming through the various periodicals that appear on my desk, my attention was caught by an article in the magazine Animals by a Mr Norman Pellam Wright. It was all about a strange little rabbit called the Volcano rabbit or Teporingo. I knew of this rabbit’s existence but hadn’t realised, until I read the article, that it was in danger of extermination. The Teporingo has a very limited range; it is only found on a few of the
volcanoes that surround Mexico City. It is small and quite useless from the point of view of eating, but although it is a strictly protected animal the local hunters use it for target practice and for training their hunting dogs. Mr Pellam Wright ended his article with a plea that some zoological garden or park should try to obtain some of these little rabbits and establish a breeding colony of them in captivity in case they became extinct in the wild state.
This, I thought, was a job for the Trust. It was an animal we could easily cope with because of its small size, and although I knew that none of the hare or rabbit family were easy to keep in captivity I felt certain that, with a certain amount of patience and perseverance, we would be able to do it, I sat back thoughtfully and pondered on the problems involved. First of all I checked in my reference books and found that there would be a feeding problem rather like the one we had come up against in the case of the Colobus, for the Volcano rabbit lives at a very high altitude in the tall zacaton grass in the pine forests. It appears to feed almost exclusively off this zacaton grass, and I wondered how it would take to other greenstuffs. Secondly, there was the question of altitude. This could be a very great problem indeed, for we would have to fly them out of Mexico to Jersey, and that would mean that they would be coming from something in the neighbourhood of ten thousand feet above sea level to practically sea level itself. Still, I believed that these two problems could be overcome somehow or other.
I thought about the difficulties for quite some time but, meanwhile, there were many other things that I had to do. I couldn’t just leap on a boat and go to Mexico at the drop of a hat. I kept the idea in the back of my mind and whilst I was pondering over it I received a letter from Mr Pellam Wright. Curiously enough, I had been on the point of writing to him myself on the subject that was occupying the thoughts of both of us – Volcano rabbits. In his letter he said that he’d heard about the Trust and the work we were trying to do and he felt, if he might be so bold, that the Volcano rabbit ought to be one of our objectives. He assured me that he himself would give every help and assistance he could, should I want to try and catch some. Well, that settled the matter as far as I was concerned. Apart from anything else, Jacquie and I had always been longing for an excuse to go to Mexico and this was the perfect one.
Getting a strictly protected animal from its country of origin is not as easy as it sounds, even for a recognised scientific organisation, so both Mr Pellam Wright and I had to undertake a long correspondence with the Mexican Government before, finally, they agreed that I could go and try for Volcano rabbits. After doing a bit of research I had discovered that there were three other species found in Mexico which were in danger of extinction in the wild state, and which were also strictly protected. They were all birds. There was the Quetzal – a beautiful green-gold bird with a scarlet breast and long glittering tail feathers; the Horned Guan – a bird about the size of a turkey with a strange, pointed, rhinoceros like horn on its forehead; and the Thick-billed parrot – a bright green bird wearing a mask of scarlet feathers across its face and touches of scarlet on its wings and thighs. The Mexican authorities gave me permission to capture the Volcano rabbits and the Thick-billed parrots, but not the Horned Guan or the Quetzals, as they said they were becoming too rare. In any case, they had their own ideas -- which they were going to put into operation shortly – for controlling the area in which these birds lived. To get two out of four permits was more than I had expected and I was quite jubilant about the result.
We set about making plans for the trip. Collapsible cages had to be designed and built; various foodstuffs packed; nests made; and, most important of all, we had to find a ship that called at Vera Cruz, the nearest Mexican port to Mexico City, for I knew I would have to go up to the city in order to make my obeisances to the authorities. Eventually we accomplished all this, but it took several months of hard work and a lot of telephone calls and letters. At last we were on board ship and heading towards Mexico.
Our party consisted of Jacquie and myself, Shep – since we were going to collect birds I thought he was the best member of the staff to go, and I like, whenever possible, to take them in rotation anyway – Doreen, my secretary (Ann Peters had left for another job), and Peggy Caird, a very dear friend of ours who had worked for a long time with the BBC and was now free-lancing. I’d asked her to join us as I thought she might get some interesting recordings of the animals so that we could supplement the photographs that we hoped to take of our efforts at catching the Volcano rabbits. I took Doreen along with us because she was a first-class driver, and we would certainly need that in the parts of Mexico we were going to visit, and, anyway, I intended to write another book on the way out.
Four weeks later, the S.S. Remshied steamed into Vera Cruz and tied up, and I went up on deck and stared at what could be seen of the town. It seemed gay and alive and warm, and there were pleasant smells in the air, so I decided immediately that I liked Mexico very much indeed. It’s unwise to go on first impressions – as I soon found out when we got into the Customs shed. Customs officials all over the world are inclined to be difficult at the best of times and they can be doubly so with an animal collector because he has to take with him such a weird assortment of equipment, ranging from mincing machines to hypodermic syringes, so that they really cannot believe that his sole purpose in coming into the country is to collect animals. They think he must be some highly suspicious sort of travelling salesman. When our mountain of equipment had been spread out along the Customs bench, it stretched for about twenty-five feet and was enough to give any Customs officer pause for thought.
To my astonishment the Customs officer turned out to be a woman, and a handsome one at that. She looked like an enlarged version of Eartha Kitt, and I took to her immediately. In her smart green uniform, and with her beautiful pale brown face, she was a heart-warming sight and I felt sure that we would get on splendidly together. My heart sank when I saw her scowl at our long line of assorted luggage. It appeared that she was not going to be what I had hoped she would be, which is what they call in South America ‘simpatica’. Fortunately I had Peggy to translate for me because my Spanish is not good enough to go into all the intricacies of why you are collecting animals to a Mexican Customs official. She began, in a rather desultory way, opening our suitcases and poking her hand down the sides. At this rate it seemed to me that we were going to be here for hours and hours – if not for days. Once, in Argentina, I had had all my collecting equipment confiscated by the Customs, and it had taken me weeks to retrieve it so that I could start on the work I had gone to do. I had a horrible suspicion that this was going to be repeated in Mexico. After Eartha Kitt had disputed the contents of the third suitcase (and she still had about another forty to do) she looked at Peggy rather disdainfully.
‘Are these all yours?’ she inquired.
‘Yes,’ said Peggy.
The woman thought for a moment, then she beckoned Peggy away to the other end of the counter. Peggy came back, her brown eyes gleaming mischievously.
‘She says she wants gratification,’ said Peggy.
‘Gratification?’ I said in amazement. ‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘Well, she says if we will gratify her she won’t bother to look at the rest of the luggage.’
I stared at Peggy in total disbelief.
‘But hasn’t she got a husband?’ I inquired. ‘This seems a very strange way of getting luggage through Customs.’
‘No, no!’ said Peggy, giggling. ‘She means a tip of some sort.’
‘God in heaven!’ I said, shocked, for I’d never attempted in all my life to bribe a Customs official. It’s almost like going and spitting in a Chief Constable’s eye.
‘How much do you think we ought to give her?’ I inquired, when I’d recovered from the shock.
‘I’ll go and see what she wants,’ said Peggy, and trotted off to the end of the counter.
P
resently she came back.
‘She said if we give her three hundred pesos it will be all right,’ said Peggy.
‘What does that work out to in English money?’ I inquired.
‘About ten pounds.’
‘Oh, well, anything to get the damned stuff cleared.’
I pulled out my wallet and handed the money to Peggy. She went down to the end of the counter where the woman was busy with some other people. I expected the handing-over of the bribe to be done with some circumspection, and so, indeed, did Peggy. She lurked there rather furtively, like some secret service agent who is not quite sure that his disguise is on straight. Eventually the woman noticed her, leant out across the counter over the baggage, and simply held out her hand. Peggy, startled, pressed the money into it and darted back to me.
‘Good heavens!’ she said. ‘So blatant!’
‘Well, at least we’ve got our stuff through,’ I said.
We got hold of an ancient gnome of a porter and he took all our luggage, piled it up and said he would arrange for a lorry to pick it up and for it to be taken to a place where it could be stored for a time. For by now I had discovered a new snag. While Peggy and I had been clearing all the equipment, Jacquie and Doreen and Shep had been attending to the paperwork necessary to get our Land Rover off the ship. I found them in a harassed, sweaty group at the other end of the Customs building.
‘Well,’ I said cheerfully, ‘it’s all fixed. All the luggage is through. All done in next to no time . . . marvellous . . . Best system I’ve come across in any Customs house in the world.’