It was, of course, impossible to return them to Madagascar, but we informed the Malagasy authorities, with whom we were collaborating on other conservation matters, and they asked us to solve the problem. As soon as the animals were fit and healthy we sent males and females, on a breeding loan arrangement with the Malagasy government, to other zoos that already possessed breeding groups, where they proved to be welcome new blood lines. Looking back on this incident, I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky; instead of sixty-five tortoises it could have been fifty Komodo dragons or a hundred or so leopards, or even a clutch of elephants.
The key to the prevention of this terrible rape of wild things, both plant and animal, is education. People must be taught that all things in nature are an endless, renewable resource if used wisely and not squandered. If they are taught that their natural heritage is something to be proud of, to be guarded and not wasted in selfish, short-term gain, wise utilization of nature follows to the benefit of all. A case in point is our involvement with a beautiful bird from the Caribbean, the St Lucia parrot, a gorgeous creature clad in green, red, yellow and blue feathering. When its plight came to the attention of David Jeggo, our Curator of Birds, some fifteen years ago, this parrot, once common, had sunk in number so there were only just over a hundred in the wild state and a few languishing in captivity in small cages, kept singly as ‘pets’ and so unable to breed. This had come about by a conglomeration of different factors: the disappearance of habitat by destruction of the forest, shooting, since Jaquot (as the bird is known in St Lucia) is considered a welcome dish at any time of the year but especially on Christmas Day, and a steady smuggling trade in young birds to parrot fanciers in Europe and the USA.
With the blessing of the St Lucian government we were allowed to collect seven young birds (the only St Lucia parrots legally allowed outside the island), and bring them to Jersey in the hope of founding a breeding colony. As with all our rare creatures, the birds remained the property of St Lucia. They settled down well and we had high hopes, but we did not expect immediate success as parrots, for the most part, are slow breeders. In the meantime, Gabriel Charles, Chief of Forestry, and the Ministry of Agriculture were making valiant attempts to save the remnants of forest on the mountains of the island, for they not only form a vital watershed for the people of St Lucia but are the parrots’ last stronghold. A total ban on hunting all over the island and a census of all parrots held in captivity were other most helpful steps in the right direction. They also employed a young Englishman called Paul Butler to help them with the campaign to save the parrot and he was well aware that education was the key to success.
From us he got huge colour posters of the parrot which he put up in schools, government departments, even in shops and bars. He had got the far-sighted government to make the St Lucia parrot the National Bird, and he published booklets for schools about the adventures of Jaquot and the importance of its forest home. Within three years there was not a soul on St Lucia who did not know about the parrot, that it was their National Bird and should therefore be protected. Protecting it, of course, meant protecting its forest home and the watershed of the island.
Then disaster struck in the form of Hurricane Allen, which laid to waste large areas of forest and we feared the worst for the wild parrots. The huge trees felled lay criss-crossed like a spilt box of matches and it was impossible to get through the tangle to count the dead and help the living. A frantic message for help came to us, and within twenty-four hours we had David Jeggo on a plane armed with a huge chainsaw. Fortunately, David found that though the destruction of the forest was bad, the loss of birds was not as great as we had feared. In fact – and this is a testament to the work of Gabriel Charles and Paul Butler, now known fondly all over the island as ‘Paul Parrot’ – the parrots which had survived the hurricane but were weak and starving were being picked up, cared for and handed over to forestry officers by the St Lucians themselves! Gabriel told me later that if the hurricane had happened before the education programme the people would have collected the helpless parrots to eat them.
Meanwhile our breeding programme in Jersey was going full swing and we had bred fourteen of these lovely birds. It was time to start thinking of sending some back so that the St Lucians could start their own captive-breeding colony. The Trust gave the Forestry Department a grant to build the necessary aviaries and David Jeggo was sent out to help with construction and design. Two of our parrots at the right breeding age were chosen, but we had to make sure of their sexes. There are many species of bird like the St Lucia parrot in which the sexes look identical, and before the invention of a wonderful piece of equipment you could have two males or two females languishing together while everyone wondered why the poor things did not breed.
The equipment is called a laparoscope and it was, of course, invented for human medicine but has proved invaluable for veterinary work. It consists of a powerful light source, a flexible light cable of glass-fibre elements, which is about the thickness of a pencil, and a precision-made viewing piece called an endoscope. The whole set-up allows you to examine the interior of a human or any other species of animal under light anaesthesia, and with the minimum of trauma to the patient. In the case of birds a minute opening is made under the wing, an incision just large enough so that you can insert the laparoscope. Then you can move it around gently, moving aside the various organs until you have a clear view of the sexual parts, two oval testes in the case of the male and a cluster of ova in the case of the female which looks remarkably like a bunch of grapes.
Our next step, when the aviaries in St Lucia had been built, was to suggest that the Prime Minister himself should come over to take possession of the birds. Simon Hicks, our Trust Secretary, was dispatched to St Lucia with the invitation, and the Prime Minister said he would be delighted if we could fix a suitable date. We then got on to British Airways, who have an excellent scheme called ‘Assisting Nature Conservation’ by which (when they can) they fly, for free, animals, equipment (and sometimes bodies) to various parts of the world where we have conservation programmes, such as in Mauritius or Madagascar, and they do this for other conservation organizations as well. So we contacted them and asked, tentatively, if they could help us ship something from the Caribbean. Thinking it was some animal they said they would see what they could do. When we divulged that it was the Prime Minister of St Lucia, they were somewhat taken aback but rallied around when we explained the importance of the situation, and agreed to waft the Prime Minister and his entourage to Jersey.
The great day dawned. Unfortunately, I had been ill and so – on doctor’s order – I could attend only the handing-over ceremony. We had a dais built outside our breeding aviaries, with microphones so that the Governor of Jersey, Sir William Pillar, the Prime Minister and I could all make speeches. The weather, unfortunately, was grey and overcast with a slight but persistent drizzle, but this did not deter the crowds or the press reporters and TV crews. At last the entourage came sailing majestically down the main drive. Two enormous cars, glossy as whales, were flanked by police outriders immaculately uniformed, blue lights flashing. It was most impressive. As the Prime Minister alighted with Sir William, the children from Trinity School in our parish sang the St Lucian national anthem, which I think surprised and touched the Prime Minister, who stood to attention until it was over. The children had been practising for weeks and their voices sang the lovely anthem very sweetly. The parrots in the aviaries behind us were thoroughly over excited by all this attention and squawked and screamed and almost drowned out the speeches. As the Prime Minister was making his acceptance speech, it began to rain quite heavily, so I had to hold a huge red-and-white golfing umbrella over his head. It was the first time I had ever held an umbrella over a Prime Minister’s head, but I find a great charm of life in conservation is the novelty of the things you have to do.
The ceremony over, the Prime Minister and his wife were taken on a short tour o
f the Trust’s headquarters and then came back to the manor house for tea. After they had left, Paul Butler stayed behind to discuss conservation matters and he told me this story, which I think exemplifies the great impact that education can have on saving a species.
An American gentleman arrived at the airport in St Lucia, got into a taxi and asked to be taken up to the parrot forests. The taxi driver became suspicious for some reason best known to himself and was convinced that the man was up to no good. Dutifully, however, he drove the unsuspecting American up into the forest to a place where he might conceivably see parrots and left him, promising to return some hours later. Then he drove as fast as he could to the nearest telephone and got in touch with the Forestry Department. He vouchsafed to them the details of the parrot smuggler, for he had heard tales of these men who dope the birds and then pack them in layers in the false bottoms of their suitcases. He had not a jot or tittle of proof, but the Forestry Department took his report very seriously. It presented them with a nice problem in diplomacy. The man was an American and, like all the islands in the Caribbean, St Lucia relies heavily on the USA for its tourist trade. To stop an American citizen and search his luggage on suspicion of smuggling parrots would hit the headlines and, if the man were innocent, cause a tremendous furore. After some thought, the Forestry Department came up with an extremely wily plan. They phoned the FBI in Miami and explained their dilemma. Could the FBI help? The FBI sure could, and would, and came up with a wily plan of their own. They got the man’s name and return flight number from St Lucia, and when the flight landed in Miami the FBI announced that there had been a bomb scare and that all passengers’ luggage would have to be searched. Of course, the only luggage that was searched belonged to the alleged parrot smuggler. As it happened, they could not find so much as a parrot feather in his belongings. But it was nice to know that this whole chain of events had been put into operation by a taxi driver who – in the days before the Ministry of Agriculture, the Forestry Department and Paul Butler had started their campaign – might well have said to the American ‘What parrots?’ or, even worse, ‘Do you want me to help you catch some?’
* It was discovered some years later, by analyzing the DNA of seaside sparrows, that the Scott’s was not as closely related to the Dusky as some of the other forms of seaside sparrow. This fact, however, does not alter my following comments on the sparrow case, but it does show that the conservationists and the DNA scientists should have got together earlier.
The Jigsaw Strategy
Over the years, Jeremy has always referred to the Trust’s multifaceted approach to captive breeding for conservation and, although we tend to pull his leg over this oft repeated and somewhat ponderous statement, it is perfectly true that this phrase sums up our work and the reason for our success. The Trust’s multifaceted approach is really made up of three stages, each different but each, as it were, interlocking with the other two bits of a jigsaw.
Stage one is the choosing of the species which you think will benefit most from your help, setting up breeding colonies in Jersey and then, when there are sufficient numbers, forming ‘satellite’ colonies in other zoological collections of good repute, usually in Europe or America. At this point you can say with some degree of truth that, leaving aside disasters, you have saved the species in captivity. Stage two is the establishment of colonies in the species’ country of origin, for that after all is where endangered species should be bred. The climate is right and the appropriate foods are available and, most importantly, the people can see their own animal treasures and learn to appreciate them. The third stage is the arduous task of releasing into the wild animals bred in Jersey or our satellite colonies or indeed in their home country. This final stage is a story in itself and is the subject of Chapter Five.
It became apparent early on that there was no point in even stage one of our activities unless we had the involvement of the government of the country where the animals come from. Over the years, I have become distressingly aware of how little is known about conservation and the necessity for it by those people in the position of power to make decisions: the politicians. I have a little black book in which I write down the more inane statements made by world leaders so that, when I complain about governments and people think I am exaggerating, I can quote them chapter and verse.
Top of my list, of course, is ex-President Reagan. His grasp of ecological problems and his grave concern for the environment are, I think, nicely encapsulated in these two statements: first, that trees cause pollution and, second, that it did not matter if the redwood forests were hacked to pieces for, as the president sagely remarked, when you’ve seen one redwood you have seen them all. My next prize for the oafish or mentally retarded statement must surely go to the Indian minister who, when faced with conservation opposition to the building of a dam which would flood a very important piece of forest and its wildlife, said angrily that ‘we cannot afford these ecological luxuries’. When ecology becomes a luxury then we are all dead.
The Minister for Mines in Queensland, Australia won my heart with his remarks to the Press when there was controversy over the proposal to drill for oil on the Great Barrier Reef. First of all, he said, there was no such thing as an oil slick. He then added that if by some billion-to-one chance oil should escape, there was no problem for (and here I quote him verbatim) ‘as every schoolboy knows, oil floats on the surface of the water and coral lives underneath the surface, so no harm could be done’. One wonders at the standards in the school the minister went to, always providing that he went to school. A high-ranking Brazilian official was reported as having said that there was no ‘proof’ that chopping down forests could alter the climate. When you consider the vast areas of desertification brought about by the blind policy of forest eradication, one wonders what sort of biology lesson the minister received in his school.
When I was in New Zealand, I had – for my sins – to lunch with the entire New Zealand Cabinet, a harrowing experience, made all the more so by a minister trumpeting on about the Wildlife Service wanting to eradicate some feral sheep on an island in the south, only the second known nesting colony of a rare species of albatross. He said the idea was ridiculous. He had been a sheep farmer all his life and he had never known a sheep tread on an egg or a bird nesting on the ground. I said I thought that probably the necessity for getting rid of the sheep was because they were increasing in numbers and, by overgrazing, probably making the habitat unsuitable for the albatross.
‘That may be the reason,’ he conceded, ‘but what’s it matter if the albatross leave this island? They’re so far south, no one can get there to see the bloody birds.’ I said there were a great number of Rembrandts in the world which I should never see, but I would not suggest burning them on that score. He made no reply. I think that perhaps he did not understand me. He probably thought a Rembrandt was a make of beer.
With this sort of experience behind me when it came to the time for us to work with governments in our endeavours, I viewed the prospect with a certain alarm and despondency, but our dealings have been for the most part very straightforward.
As I was writing this, however, I had a discussion with Jeremy about a project we were going to fund in a country which shall be nameless. I asked him why were we being so laggardly, why had we not gone ahead? ‘Elections,’ said Jeremy dolefully. ‘The party in power, as you know, is in favour of our proposals. However, they are coming up for elections in a month or so, and if the other party gets in they will probably throw out any decisions made by this party, so we thought it prudent to wait.’ So a vital piece of conservation work could not proceed until little politicians had done all their strutting and fretting and their wildlife had slipped one notch nearer to oblivion.
But on the whole we work very well with governments. I think the chief reason for this is the Accords we have set up for both parties to agree and sign, and they have proved invaluable. They are s
ignals of our good intentions that all the creatures and their progeny remain the property of the country of origin and are recallable at any time. This proves, if proof were needed, that we are not simply helping ourselves to rare animals but are working with the government for the benefit of their fauna. Thus the governments concerned need have no fear that we are ‘colonialist robbers of endangered species’. A second reason these Accords are so valuable is that they set out on paper the ways and means of implementing stages two and three of our multifaceted approach to saving species.
As our breeding successes in Jersey became greater, it was stage two, the establishment of in situ breeding colonies that gave us the most cause for concern. Although it was obvious that where these animals should be bred was in their home countries, there was generally no one there with the expertise to undertake such a task, even supposing we gave a grant to set up a captive-breeding centre. It was clear that we should have to train people for the task and this meant bringing them to Jersey. So we planned to build a training centre, a complex we would come to call our ‘mini-university’, which contained student living quarters, a lecture hall, a library and many other necessary facilities. It was going to be a huge and costly building and, although I was loath to cover some of our lovely farmland with cement, there seemed no other way for the Trust to fulfil its function. We got the architect’s plans, pored over them, argued over them and then got a revised version on which we hoped we had corrected our mistakes and not overlooked anything vital.
Once again, I picked up my begging bowl and went to the United States, and with typical American generosity the money was readily forthcoming. From another source in the UK came the all-important grant to allow the creation of scholarships for people from what are laughingly called ‘emerging nations’, who would not have the wherewithal to travel to Jersey for training. So we had the finance for both the building and the scholarships. I was not, however, happy with the building. Owing to limited funds, we could not afford frills and furbelows and, in spite of our excellent architect’s efforts to soothe me, I still felt it was going to look somewhat like a cement shoebox. Having seen what horrors have been perpetrated in zoos all over the world in the name of the Goddess Cement, I tend to view this useful substance with a certain distaste. However, there was nothing to be done about it – or so I thought. Then something very curious occurred, which showed that Fate was on our side.