‘Yes,’ said Jeremy with enthusiasm, ‘and after the goats were eradicated, we managed to get rid of three thousand rab . . . rab . . . rab . . .’ Jeremy’s voice faltered and came to a stop. How could you tell the man who had written Watership Down that you had exterminated 3000 rabbits, without earning a certain amount of displeasure?
They looked at each other in silence for a moment. Jeremy got redder and redder.
‘It’s quite all right,’ said Richard Adams, placidly. ‘I don’t know why everybody thinks I like rabbits so much just because I wrote a book about them.’
So, in collaboration with the Mauritius government and with the aid of the New Zealand Wildlife Service and the Australian Navy, the Trust had saved Round Island. We had, as I wrote to Roger Payne, saved a ‘there’ to put ‘them’ back into. But more than that, I believe that by this achievement we have taken the conception of a ‘zoo’, as it is popularly thought of, a stage further. Not only have we demonstrated that captive breeding, be it in Jersey or the country of origin of the species, is of vital importance, but we have shown how a ‘zoo’ can help in the resurrection and protection of the habitat of the it animals deals with.
What we have done for Round Island will, I am convinced, be used as a model for many parts of the world where fragile ecosystems exist and are under the same threat. So we hope we have shown that the zoological garden will have progressed from being the sterile Victorian menagerie (of which there are still far too many examples), to being a vital force in the conservation of the other forms of animal life, which share the world with us. We feel this is what all zoos, especially the ones in richer countries, should be doing, and if for financial reasons they cannot venture as far as the Mascarenes they will, if they look, inevitably find on their doorstep a Round Island they can help, such is the urgent need for conservation in the world today.
A Festival of Animals
So 1984 became a year of dual birthdays for it was twenty-five years since I had founded the zoo and twenty-one since it had undergone its metamorphosis and become the Jersey Wildlife Preservation Trust. It thus behoved us, in the warm flush of celebration, to take a cautionary look at our progress to date.
What had we accomplished? Well, first, I think we had proved that a zoo can and should be a vital cog in the conservation machine. If captive breeding was mentioned twenty-five years ago within the hearing of a group of earnest conservationists, they flinched and spoke loudly of other things, rather as if you had the bad taste to confess that you thought necrophilia a suitable means of birth control. But three years ago the IUCN issued a policy statement which embraced captive breeding as a vital conservation tool. As a document it makes for interesting reading, for it sets out, almost word for word, the guidelines for captive breeding that we have been using for a quarter of a century, and which I had been preaching since I was sixteen! We are delighted that the conservation establishment has made it respectable at last, but why did it take so long? However, one should not carp. It is pleasant to receive into the fold such exalted disciples, however belatedly.
Thus we have set up breeding groups of endangered species not only in Jersey and various other suitable zoological collections in Europe and America, but also in the countries of the animals’ origin. There are breeding facilities designed and built with our help in such places as Brazil, St Lucia, Mauritius, Morocco and Madagascar. This latter, highly successful in situ breeding colony is an interesting departure for us, for it involves the world’s rarest tortoise, the Ploughshare tortoise, or Angonoka, a species which we do not have in the collection in Jersey. It may be represented in years to come, but for the moment the important thing is to build up its numbers, which our Conservation Field Officer in Madagascar, Don Reid, is doing with great success. Of course we have not undertaken this project single-handed, but with the help of many organizations, notably the Worldwide Fund for Nature, but Lee is master-minding the whole endeavour and at the present rate of progress it seems set fair to be a wonderful example of how such projects should be planned and run.
The next important thing we have done is to create our mini-university: our International Training Centre for Conservation and Captive Breeding of Endangered Species, to give it its full title, where people from developing countries come on scholarships and return home to run the breeding programmes we have established in accord with their governments.
Just recently, Jeremy came back from an IUCN meeting in Costa Rica and was delighted to have met up with twenty-two of our graduates there, from countries as far apart as Thailand and Brazil, all anxious for news of progress in Jersey – their Alma mater, so to speak – and eagerly sharing their news and views with one another. Jeremy said it was like a big family reunion and it was most heartwarming to see that the Trust had trained and enthused so many young people from so many different parts of the world.
The Training Centre is now affiliated with the University of Kent in the UK, which offers our trainees the opportunity to study for a Diploma in Endangered Species Management, the first of its kind. We have access to the university’s sophisticated computer facilities and can thus speedily and efficiently garner knowledge for our purposes from all over the world. Furthermore, in 1989, the university set up a brand new institute in the field of biological science, and I was greatly honoured when they asked me if they could use my name in this connection. So this institute – the first of its kind in the United Kingdom – is to be called the Durrell Institute of Conservation and Ecology, or DICE for short. I think this is an appropriate acronym since, as I have shown in this book, conservation is a dicey game at best.
Our other activities, both Jersey-based and further afield, have kept pace with our main developments. The results of our scientific research – both on the collection in Jersey (and its myriad aspects of veterinary medicine, nutrition and breeding biology) and on the behaviour and ecology of species in the wild – are available in libraries all over the world. Our educational efforts are expanding rapidly, whether they are for Jersey schoolchildren or for the People of Madagascar who see posters of lemurs and Ploughshare tortoises in schools and public buildings everywhere.
Our work has been greatly aided by our members worldwide, but particularly those in North America. As I have related, I went to the United States in 1973 and, with the tremendous help and support of Tom Lovejoy and my other American friends, Wildlife Preservation Trust International was founded. In 1986, Simon Hicks was instrumental in forming Wildlife Preservation Trust Canada. Apart from widening our scope, the creation of these two sisters organizations enables our American and Canadian supporters to get tax relief on their membership dues and their generous donations, both of which support the international conservation efforts of the Trust as a whole.
Finally, we are now starting to see the rewards of our work: the successful release to the wild of captive-bred animals. Such rare creatures as Pink pigeons and golden lion tamarins have settled down to their new lives in the forests and, most importantly, have begun breeding. It is a wonderful feeling after all the years of carefully building up our breeding colonies to be able to return animals to where they belong and see them flourish.
So all the objectives we set ourselves when the Trust was established have been tackled, some more thoroughly than others, but at least the mechanism is in place and is ready for further development. It is, however, nice to receive compliments and one of the nicest we have received came from Dr Warren Iliff, director of Dallas Zoo and past president of the American Association of Zoological Parks and Aquaria, when he spoke in 1988 at the Southern Methodist University in Texas. He said: ‘If you ask people which is the best zoo in the world some say San Diego, some say Bronx. But if you ask zoo people themselves, people professionally involved with zoos, inducting zoo directors, they say the Jersey Zoo’. A statement like this from the other side of the Atlantic where they have mega-zoos run on mega-bucks is a compliment to cherish
.
We have been lucky too, as I have said, that I have written books which have been popular and which have helped us obtain membership, have shown people the importance of captive breeding and have opened many doors and given me access to people I would not otherwise have met and this was made very obvious when we were planning our anniversary celebrations.
Because we are a small organization, the ‘boys’ (as I insist on calling Jeremy, John, Simon and Tony, to their disgust) frequently come up to our flat at the end of the day to partake of a drink. They do this during the day as well, should we have weighty matters to argue and discuss before taking our recommendations to the Board of Management or to Council. In this way we separate a lot of wheat from the chaff and save innumerable hours of debate at committee meetings. If I am cooking – an art which I enjoy practising – the boys sit around the kitchen table; if not, we repair to the living room where half of them have to sit on the floor, and papers and notes are strewn about in what looks like total confusion but is really very orderly.
On special occasions, such as the birth of a baby gorilla, or the falling in love of a pair of golden lion tamarins, we drink champagne – not, I hasten to add, paid for out of Trust funds but from my own cellar. This particular morning we felt warranted the popping of corks for we had just heard that Princess Anne would come over to Jersey to join in our birthday celebrations. Now all we had to do was to plan the shape of the affair.
‘The princess has consented to open the Training Centre,’ said Simon, lying on the carpet clutching his champagne goblet, ‘so that’s excellent. That can happen first’. Although our mini-university had been operational for a couple of years, it had never been ‘officially’ christened and naturally we wanted our patron to do this.
‘And then what?’ I asked, for the bulk of the arrangements would fall to Simon’s lot.
‘A luncheon,’ he said. ‘Very select. Trust members only.’
‘Speeches?’ asked John.
‘I hope Gerry will make one and the princess will reply,’ said Simon.
‘Oh, God, you know I hate making speeches, Si; do I have to?’
‘Obligatory,’ said Simon. ‘Can’t have the princess making a speech and the founder sitting there silent.’
‘Just a few simple words,’ John added encouragingly.
‘Good if they’re simple you can write them for me,’ I said.
‘You always change everything I write for you,’ said John, indignantly.
‘That’s because you can’t write,’ I said. ‘Go on, Simon, what about the evening?’
‘I’ve had a brilliant idea about that,’ enthused Simon, his blue eyes flashing. We all groaned and Jeremy closed his eyes and a spasm of pain flashed across his face, making him look even more like the Duke of Wellington – after suffering a defeat. We all knew Simon’s brilliant ideas.
‘What I suggest is,’ Simon went on, oblivious of our unanimous horror, ‘we hire Gorey Castle and have a pageant there.’
This surpassed all Simon’s brilliant ideas. Gorey Castle, built in the thirteenth century, dominates the pretty little fishing port which lies below it in a half-moon bay. A magnificent pile of masonry, it seems newly minted, its walls and towers and battlements unpocked by cannon shot. It looks as though it has just been built by Hollywood and when it is floodlit you expect to see Errol Flynn swagger out on to the battlements at my moment. The castle is the most spectacular on Jersey and had been under the care of Sir Walter Raleigh when he was governor of the island in 1600. The idea of renting such a desirable property was very compelling but, I realized sadly, unrealistic.
‘Rent Gorey Castle,’ said Tony, scandalized, ‘they won’t rent you a castle!’
‘Well, if they know who it’s for they’ll probably give it to us free,’ said Simon, dismissing this quibble. ‘Then I thought that this pageant could be mediaeval. We can accommodate about two thousand people, I should think. We’ll all dress in period costume and we’ll have an ox roasting on a spit and we’ll have . . .’
‘Two thousand people,’ exclaimed Lee. ‘Who’s going to serve them?’
‘Waiters,’ said Simon, surprised that Lee had not thought of this simple answer herself.
‘Where are you going to get them? There aren’t enough on the island as it is,’ Jeremy pointed out.
‘We’ll fly them in,’ said Simon, intoxicated with the idea, ‘just fly them in.’
‘But where will they sleep?’ asked Jeremy, exasperatedly.
‘Tents,’ said Simon, ‘we’ll erect tents in the castle grounds.’
I had a wonderful mental vision of a host of disgruntled Portuguese and Spanish waiters, dressed in Elizabethan ruffs and plumed hats, crawling in and out of tents in the pouring rain.
‘What about toilet facilities?’ asked Tony who, as our general administrator and veterinarian, had spent a very unpleasant few hours the previous day sorting out a problem with our ladies’ lavatory and so was inclined to a morbid view.
‘Dig latrines,’ said Simon promptly.
‘Who will dig them?’ asked Jeremy.
‘Volunteers,’ said Simon.
‘And if you can’t find volunteers?’ asked Jeremy.
‘Ask the waiters to dig them,’ suggested John.
‘And where are you going to get an ox?’ asked Tony, the veterinary side of his nature coming to the fore.
‘Buy one,’ said Simon.
‘Public health would never allow latrines all over the castle,’ said Jeremy.
‘Apart from the hygiene – the smell,’ Tony added with feeling.
‘Better a banquet where herbs are rather than a burnt ox,’ I said, misquoting the Bible.
‘We’ll have a banquet too,’ said Simon, clinging tenaciously to his idea, ‘venison and things like that.’
‘We could melt some lead and pour it from the battlements over those people we disapproved of,’ John suggested, helpfully.
‘Lead’s extremely expensive,’ said Jeremy, taking the suggestion seriously.
I felt the meeting was getting out of hand, so I opened another bottle of champagne.
‘Look,’ I said, ‘fascinating though this castle idea is, it is bristling with pitfalls and I have no wish to have to explain to the Palace why I entertained the princess in a castle lashed by wind and rain, with half-cooked oxen all over the place, boiling lead dripping from the battlements and a lot of foreign waiters complaining that their cod-pieces didn’t do them justice, or were uncomfy.’
‘You mean you don’t like my idea?’ asked Simon, crestfallen.
‘An excellent idea, but for some other occasion,’ I said. ‘But I have an idea. How about having a sort of celebration of animals and inviting over all the celebrities I know who are connected with conservation so that each can show the importance of animal life to them?’
Simon brightened. ‘You mean, a sort of stage show?’ he asked tentatively. I could see the fanatical gleam returning to his eye.
‘Well, yes,’ I said, vaguely. ‘I mean actors and actresses to read poetry about animals, a ballet perhaps, get Yehudi Menuhin to play something like the ‘Carnival of the Animals’ – that sort of thing.’
‘Yes, yes, jolly good,’ said Simon, gazing into space as if he could see it all. ‘We’ll do it down in St Helier at Fort Regent. They have a huge stage and all the equipment, lights, a huge projector for film, quadraphonic sound. Oh yes, it’ll be absolutely splendid. Jolly good.’
Thus was the ‘Festival of Animals’ born. The cast list was impressive and interesting as I had met most of these celebrities in so many different ways.
For reading the bits of poetry, I wanted two contrasting voices, male and female. Of all the excellent actors I knew there was one whose voice stood out: Sir Michael Hordern. When he spoke, it was like listening to
a wonderful vintage port which had been given the power of speech: rich, resonant and refulgent. I did not know him, but I knew that he had read my books and liked them, so I was delighted when he accepted. About the choice of the female voice I was never in doubt. Ever since I had first seen her in that enchanting film, Genevieve, about the London-to-Brighton vintage car race, I had fallen deeply and irrevocably in love with Dinah Sheridan. Later I had seen her in the film Where No Vultures Fly and my heart was even more firmly entangled. However, I knew that she was married and, upright and honourable as I am, this prevented me from searching her out and laying my heart at her feet. Another reason was, of course, that I was married myself. So I had reconciled myself, not without a struggle, to life without Dinah Sheridan.
Then just before our great anniversary, two things happened. I was going to London and I saw they were reviving Present Laughter, a very funny play by my old friend Noël Coward, who had for some years been one of our overseas trustees. In the cast, to my delight, was Dinah Sheridan; so I determined to go to see my paragon in the flesh, as it were. As we were flying to London, I was idly leafing through the in-flight magazine and came upon an interview with Miss Sheridan. Among the normal spate of vacuous questions one is inevitably asked at such interviews, she had been asked who she would like as a companion if she were wrecked on a desert island. She had answered ‘Gerald Durrell’. I could not believe my eyes.
‘Good God, she wants to be wrecked on a desert island with me,’ I said to Lee.
‘Who does?’ asked my wife suspiciously.
‘Dinah Sheridan.’
‘What would she want that for?’ asked Lee, in the dampening way wives have.