Another creature the children had obtained was one I had long wanted to meet, the Malagasy pill-millipede or, as it is called in England, the wood-louse. But in Europe these harmless and enchanting creatures only grow to the size of a plump garden pea, whereas in Madagascar they grown to the size of a billiard ball. I don’t quite know where the fascination for pygmy or giant things lies, but I know I was delighted with the handful of pill-millipedes the children had caught. These were rolled into a ball, and their ‘shells’ were a lovely shade of greenish black, each joint picked out with a pale yellow stripe at the ‘hinge’. The size of small plums, they had the smooth feel of something machine-turned. Placed on the ground they would remain unmoving for a moment or two and then slowly uncurl, displaying their forest of ginger legs on the underside. With an effort they would set their rotund bodies the right way up and then, all their legs working overtime, they would trundle off, looking more like clockwork toys than real creatures.
For three days we wandered the forests of Perinet without contacting indris, and we were beginning to lose hope of filming them. Once, on the very edge of sound, like the shadow of an echo, we heard a troop singing many miles from us, but that was all. We had quartered our section of the forest pretty thoroughly but with no success and we now had to make up our minds whether to move to a different area and start again. We decided to give our section of forest one more try. So we went through the ritual—breakfast at dawn, climbing the escarpment half asleep, and then, in the early sun’s rays, quartering the forest. At ten o’clock, dispirited, we assembled at a gigantic tree that was a landmark on the path. Its dark — and pale-green leaves framed huge branches of magenta-pink flowers, glowing against the blue sky. Depressed, we drank and ate some food and discussed the situation. Because of our timetable it was impossible now, we felt, to move to another area, and yet this area had proved to be no use. It seemed as if we were doomed not to film indri.
But then, just as we were starting to pack up to go back to the hotel, we were all startled, to say the least, by a sudden ear-splitting, ground-vibrating, roaring, holding chorus that broke out directly over our heads. The noise was indescribable and made the forest vibrate like a harp. Moving our vangate point we could see, thirty feet above us, taking their ease in the sunlit garden of pink flowers, a troop of five indri, open-mouthed, singing their territorial chorus. It had all the rich, sonorous quality of organ music, but—as I later discovered—it sounded much more like the weird and beautiful calls of whales.
We could not believe our luck. There, in full sunlight sat the indris, each as large as a three-year-old child, decked out handsomely in their black and white fur with wildly staring chrysanthemum-yellow eyes and shaggy ear plumes. In between reverberating choruses they paused to pluck leaves and stuff them into their pink mouths.
Presently, finding the supply of food dwindling, they hurled themselves into the forest. There is no other description. Clinging to a vertical branch, an indri would simply bunch its powerful hind legs under it and launch itself like a furry black and white projectile. As it flew backwards, it would turn in mid-air so that when it landed on another tree it was facing the right way, and now the hind legs could cushion the landing. Apart from the length of these prodigious leaps what amazed us most was the silence of them, for these huge lemurs propelled themselves at speed through the forest with scarcely a rustle to betray their presence. That they had no fear of us was obvious—they were too concerned with obtaining their breakfast and singing. One female, in fact, spotting some succulent leaves, came down a sapling, looking ridiculously like a wooden toy monkey on a stick, and started feeding within two feet of the ground and within six feet of me and Lee.
So we followed the troop for most of the morning until, tiring of our attentions, they bounded off into the forest and disappeared. Although for sheer charm the sifaka still held my heart, I was deeply impressed by the dignity and beauty and self-confidence of the indri. It was a privilege to share the world with such an animal, but for how long could we do so? If the forests vanish—and they are vanishing—the indri goes with them.
The morning before we left, Lee and I walked up the road towards the forest and stood listening to the indris, as the sky turned from green to blue. Their haunting, wonderful, mournful song came to us, plaintive, beautiful and sad. It could have been the very voice of the forest, the very voice of Madagascar lamenting.
Acknowledgements
Ark on the Move,
a thirteen-part television series
A Nielsen-Ferns International Ltd. Production
in association with the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation,
Primetime Television Channel Television
South African Broadcasting Corporation and the
Australian Broadcasting Commission
International Distribution by
Richard Price Television Associates,
Seymour Mews House
Seymour Mews
Wigmore Street
London W1H 9PE
U.K.
A MESSAGE FROM
THE DURRELL WILDLIFE CONSERVATION TRUST
The end of this book isn’t the end of Gerald Durrell’s story. The various experiences you have just read about gave impetus and inspiration to his lifetime crusade to preserve the rich diversity of animal life on this planet.
Although he died in 1995, the words of Gerald Durrell in this and his other books will continue to inspire people everywhere with love and respect for what he called ‘this magical world’. His work goes on through the untiring efforts of the Durrell Wildlife Conservation Trust.
Over the years many readers of Gerald Durrell’s books have been so motivated by his experiences and vision that they have wanted to continue the story for themselves by supporting the work of his Trust. We hope that you will feel the same way today because through his books and life, Gerald Durrell set us all a challenge. ‘Animals are the great voteless and voiceless majority,’ he wrote, ‘who can only survive with our help.’
Please don’t let your interest in conservation end when you turn this page. Write to us now and we’ll tell you how you can be part of our crusade to save animals from extinction. For further information, or to send a donation, write to:
Durrell Wildlife Conservation Trust
Les Augrès Manor
La Profonde Rue
Trinity
Jersey, Channel Islands
JE3 5BP
Or visit the website:
www.durrell.org
First published in 1983 by Coward McCann
This edition published 2011 by Bello
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Basingstoke and Oxford
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com/imprints/bello
www.curtisbrown.co.uk
ISBN 978-1-4472-1426-7 EPUB
ISBN 978-1-4472-1425-0 POD
Copyright © Gerald Durrell, 1983
The right of Gerald Durell to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Illustrations by Gynelle Alves. Reproduced by permission of Gynelle Alves.
Every effort has been made to contact the copyright holders of the material reproduced in this book. If any have been inadvertently overlooked, the publisher will be pleased to make restitution at the earliest opportunity.
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any un
authorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
The Macmillan Group has no responsibility for the information provided by any author websites whose address you obtain from this book (‘author websites’). The inclusion of author website addresses in this book does not constitute an endorsement by or association with us of such sites or the content, products, advertising or other materials presented on such sites.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This book remains true to the original in every way. Some aspects may appear out-of-date to modern-day readers. Bello makes no apology for this, as to retrospectively change any content would be anachronistic and undermine the authenticity of the original. Bello has no responsibility for the content of the material in this book. The opinions expressed are those of the author and do not constitute an endorsement by, or association with, us of the characterisation and content.
Visit www.panmacmillan.com to read more about all our books and to buy them. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events, and you can sign up for e-newsletters so that you’re always first to hear about our new releases
Gerald Durrell, Ark on the Move
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends