The Stationary Ark Read online

  However, through the gloom came one ray of hope. I was assured that, if I could find the security, the bank would consider a loan. They warned me, in the nicest possible way, that it was their considered opinion that I would be better advised to go home, get into a hot bath and slice open a large vein. At least, that was the gist of what they said. I took no notice. The chief problem was what to use as security. This did not turn out to be quite such a problem as it might have appeared, since I had only one thing that could, loosely speaking, be called collateral and that was my authorship. This was a fragile piece of collateral if ever there was one, but I had written three very successful books and, in my innocence, there did not seem to be any reason why I should not write more. Why not borrow on these, as yet unconceived, masterpieces? Cheered by the discovery of a business acumen I had never realized I possessed, I hurried off to see my then publisher, Rupert Hart-Davis, and spoke to him long, eloquently and a trifle incoherently of my plans. So forcefully did I plead my case that poor Rupert, bemused, said he would stand guarantor for £25,000, if I took out a life-insurance policy for that amount (just in case I got eaten by a lion before I could repay the loan). This I was luckily able to do.

  Now I had the wherewithal, the next problem was where to set the whole thing up. Ideally, it would be a scientific research and breeding station, not open to the public, but I knew this to be impossible. We needed the visitors to provide us not only with the running expenses, but also the cash to repay the loan and the interest. The zoo, therefore, would have to be sited either within easy reach of a large population, or else in a place that had a large influx of holidaymakers.

  My first thought was of Bournemouth, which seemed ideal from every point of view. I have written elsewhere of my struggle to start my scheme there and later in the adjacent borough of Poole. I will not repeat the sorry story here. Suffice it to say that I met with such stubbornness and myopic indifference from both councils, that I abandoned all attempts to start on the south coast of England. The whole of England, it seemed, was beset with narrow-minded local councils, enmeshed in red tape and bureaucratic controls of such Machiavellian intricacy that one found oneself bound hand and foot, as though one had walked into a giant spider’s web. England seemed to offer no hope, so I turned my eyes farther afield. What I really wanted, I decided, was a place which was small and made its own rules. This was not such a wild idea as it sounds, for two places immediately sprang to mind, both (in a loose sense) connected with the United Kingdom, but both self-governing. One was the Isle of Man, in the Irish Sea, and the other was the Channel Islands, lying in the English Channel, closer to France than to England. After investigation, I discarded the Isle of Man, since, lying so far north, I felt the climate would be inimical to what I wanted to do. Jersey, the largest of the Channel Islands, sounded much better. There was, however, one snag: I knew not a soul on the island.

  Once again, I turned to my long-suffering publisher, Rupert, and again he came to my rescue. He gave me an introduction to one Major Fraser, who lived on the island and who, unsuspectingly, agreed to show me round and help me try to locate a property suitable for my needs. So Jacquie, my wife, and I flew to Jersey and were met by Major Fraser, who drove us around the island and showed us various sites, all of which, for one reason or another, proved to be unsuitable. Feeling rather dispirited, we made our way to the Major’s house for lunch. This house was Les Augres Manor, built of the warm, autumn-coloured local granite, with a large walled garden, a courtyard guarded by two beautiful fifteenth-century archways and the whole thing standing in some thirty-five acres of gently undulating farmland. I took one look at it and knew that this was what I wanted. However, I found it difficult (while breaking bread with someone) actually to evict them from their ancestral home. Eventually, I broached the subject with all the tact I could muster. To my astonishment I discovered that the Major wanted to move to England, as he found the upkeep of Les Augres too much as a private residence. He would therefore be happy to rent me the Manor, with an option to purchase at a later date, when we were more firmly established. We went down to see the appropriate authorities, who showed real enthusiasm for my idea. So, within three days, I had found the property I wanted, had obtained all the necessary permits to start and had the blessing of the States of Jersey, as the Governor is called. Within three days, I had accomplished what I had not been able to achieve in over a year of fighting with a fumbling bureaucracy in England. There was a lot to be said, I decided, for being small, compact and self-governing.

  In the initial stages, the zoo was a fairly makeshift affair. The animal accommodation, though adequate, left a lot to be desired in the way of appearance, but this was due to restricted funds and we hoped that it would soon be replaced, as we grew and prospered. While the zoo was coming into being, I still had to make my living and also try to earn enough money to repay the loan. In order to get the material to write about, I had to go on more expeditions, of course, but this was a good thing from my point of view, because, for the first time, I knew exactly what was going to happen to my animals (in terms of treatment and caging) when I brought them back. Having to go on these expeditions, however, also meant that, in its early embryonic stages, I had to leave the zoo to be guided and developed by a manager. I quickly learnt that this was a disastrous mistake. Coming back from one expedition, I found that I had to cancel my plans for the next one and take over the zoo myself, to avoid the whole thing sliding into bankruptcy. The next two years were, to say the least, exhausting, for not only did I have to guard against infant mortality in the zoo by borrowing still more money, but I had to continue to write to earn my living, to try to pay back the now unpleasantly large debt.

  It was fortunate that we had managed to acquire a group of hard-working and dedicated staff in our early days, for, without them, my scheme would undoubtedly have foundered at that point. I explained the financial predicament to them and pointed out that we did not know from one moment to the next if we should survive and that they would be far better off if they left and went to a place where they could obtain a decent wage and some sort of future security. To their eternal credit, they all decided to stay and so, after many trials and tribulations, after many black moments when we literally did not know if we should survive to the end of the week, we managed to pull the zoo back on course. Slowly at first, then with increasing momentum, it started to grow and prosper. So for three years we worked hard at laying down foundations on which we could build.

  The place was now secure. On its gate receipts alone it could have gone on for years being nothing more than a simple small zoo, but this was not what I had in mind when I had founded it. There were quite enough of these ‘backyard’ type zoos around, fulfilling no useful function. If the zoo were to expand and grow into what I had planned, then it would need financial resources from outside. ‘The only way to achieve that was to turn it into a scientific Trust.

  Later on I learnt that, in America, the word Trust is generally used to denote an organization for the distribution of money, such as a Trust Fund. In England, however, it can also mean a sort of club or association and, in such a case, it is almost always trying to obtain money rather than to distribute it. The type of Trust I wanted to create had to be a scientific one and be classified as a non-profit-making charity, so that the Trust itself would not be subject to income tax, and would have the additional benefit of being able to accept Deeds of Covenant from its supporters, thus allowing the Trust to claim the tax paid by the donors.

  The original rules and regulations of the Trust were worked out by a bevy of incomprehensible lawyers and accountants. We decided to call it the Jersey Wildlife Preservation Trust. When they finally emerged, the objects of the Trust were as follows:

  To promote interest in wildlife conservation throughout the world.

  To build up under controlled conditions breeding colonies of various species of animals which were threatened with extin
ction in the wild state.

  To organize special expeditions to rescue seriously threatened species.

  By studying the biology of these species, to amass and correlate data which would help towards protecting those endangered animals in the wild state.

  The initial membership of the Trust was built up in a rather curious way. Naturally, ever since I had first started writing, I had had in the back of my mind the idea of founding the zoo and then turning it into a Trust, so, over the years, any appreciative letters I received had been carefully filed away. I felt that anyone who enjoyed my books and who took the trouble to write to me about them would, in all probability, be willing to join the newly formed Trust as founder members. So, when the Trust was formed and launched, I wrote personally to these people and asked them if they would be willing to support us. To our delight, the majority of them did. In this way, we formed the nucleus of the Trust’s membership.

  There was, however, one final problem to solve before the Trust could take over and that was the matter of the original debt, incurred in founding what was now to be the Trust’s headquarters. It was obvious to me that if such a Trust were to come into being and to stand any chance of growing into an organization of scientific importance, it could not be faced with a debt of some thirty-five thousand pounds as a christening present and still be expected to go on and prosper. There was only one thing to be done; I took over the debt personally. This meant that when the legal formalities were complete and the Trust came into being, I handed over the zoo and the contents, unencumbered by debt, to the first Trustees and Council.

  Since that day, twelve years ago, the Trust has developed into a lusty infant. I say infant, because we still have a long way to go, but we have nevertheless laid down some very solid foundations on which to build. During these twelve years, we have done a number of things. The original animal collection, which was an ordinary, mixed zoo collection, has, to a large extent, been replaced by viable breeding colonies of endangered species, so that the collection now has more specimens of fewer species, which is as it should be. Over the years, our breeding record (for our size) has been commendable, with a number of species being bred for the first time in captivity (which shows we are mastering new techniques) and, more important still, a great number of rare and endangered species being bred. Our scientific record system has grown into something of great importance and from it our Annual Report (which goes to all members) has evolved as a most valuable scientific document. Our collection of animals, at the Trust’s headquarters at Les Augres Manor, has now been seen by well over two million visitors and our Trust membership grows with each passing year; and with each passing year we grow in scientific and financial strength.

  Just recently, I went to America to found the Wildlife Preservation Trust International, a sister organization which will allow us to expand the scope of our work in conservation. Already, this organization is not only assisting us in Jersey, but, most important of all, is allowing us to expand our operations around the world. The Jersey Trust, together with its American sister organization, has done significant work in various parts of the world. We have given advice and financial help to projects such as the breeding of the newly rediscovered Pygmy hog and the various endangered species of Lesser Antillean parrot and we have led rescue expeditions to places like Sierra Leone and Mexico to collect colonies of such endangered species as the Volcano rabbit and so on.

  In Jersey, of course, we are still just known as ‘The Zoo’. This is as it should be, but we are a zoo with a difference. We are a zoo with very clear objectives, with clear ideas of what a zoo’s role should be in conservation and scientific research. In this respect, we are still a unique organization, one developing all its time, money and energies to the cause of captive breeding for conservation. We do not merely preach this type of conservation, we practise it. In this book I will try to show you where we have succeeded, where we have failed and what we hope to achieve in the years ahead.

  The Gilded Cage

  ‘Only the following basic statement need be repeated here: the ideal solution for a zoo is not to provide an exact imitation of the natural habitat, but rather to transpose the natural conditions in the wild, bearing in mind biological principles, into the artificial ones of the zoo.’

  Heini Hediger, Man and Animal in the Zoo

  ‘Small rooms or dwellings set the mind in the right path; large ones cause it to go astray.’

  Leonardo Da Vinci

  ‘One of the most frequent misconceptions which is constantly met in the zoo is the business of regarding the animals as prisoners. This is as false and old-fashioned as if in these days everybody still thought that radio and television sets contained little men who talked, sang and danced inside the sets.’

  Heini Hediger, Man and Animal in the Zoo

  ‘Many a New Yorker spends a lifetime within the confines of an area smaller than a country village. Let him walk two blocks from his corner and he is in a strange land and will feel uneasy till he gets back.’

  E.B. White

  Anyone who has had anything to do with zoos must admit, albeit reluctantly, that there is precious little art in zoo architecture. The average architect in a zoo behaves like a child with its first box of bricks and will, if left to himself, produce buildings that are about as much use as they would be if they had been designed by a mentally retarded infant of five.

  The main problem with zoo architecture in the past, and to a large degree in the present, is that the cages and enclosures are designed by people for people. It may seem odd to stress it, but when designing anything in an animal collection, there are four things which should be considered, in this order of importance:

  The needs of the animals,

  the needs of the person looking after the animal,

  the public who wish to see the animal and,

  the aesthetic aims of the architect and of the gardener who has to tend it.

  Looking round the average zoo, you will find, far too often, that this order of importance has been reversed. Thus you get an edifice which may be an architectural dream and wonderful from the public’s point of view, but useless for both the animal and the staff. It is, if I may be permitted to coin a phrase, what I call ‘anthropomorphic architecture’ and the reason it comes into being is twofold.

  Firstly, the architect does know what he and the public want, which is something that is large and pretty (a building that salves their conscience about the imagined rigours of captivity) but he does not know what the animal wants and as there seems to be, generally, a complete lack of liaison between the architect and the person responsible for the animal’s welfare, these architectural monsters are born.

  Now it would be as foolish to expect every zoo architect to have a zoological training, as it would be to expect honesty in every politician, but it does help if the architect knows the difference between a giraffe and a dormouse, in the same way as it helps if a politician knows right from wrong. In most cases it would appear (judging by the end product) that the architect is given a brief and then goes ahead and produces what he thinks is architecturally best, with little or no consideration for the animal or the staff. There are far too many modern zoo cages which are anything but ideal for the animals within them, yet, curiously enough, it is seldom these cages which are criticized by the public, as long as they are nice and clean. Because of this attitude, many zoos have been forced to build bigger and bigger cages for animals, which, in a great many cases, only use a fifth of the space provided and would probably feel much more secure in a smaller area.

  I remember visiting a brand new elephant house with a very distinguished continental zoo director who believed that, when an architect was designing something in a zoo, the animal was the customer and its wishes and needs were of paramount importance. We stood for some considerable time in silence, gazing at this monstrous new edifice,
and then my friend broke the silence, speaking in a hushed whisper.

  ‘What is she for?’ he enquired.

  ‘Elephants,’ I said succinctly.

  ‘Elephants?’ he said, his eyes widening in shocked amazement, ‘elephants? But why is she shaped like this, why all these pointed bits on top, what they do?’

  ‘The whole building, according to the architect, is supposed to represent a group of elephants at a water hole,’ I said. My friend dosed his eyes in anguish and muttered a particularly all embracing curse on architects, in one of the lesser known Serbo-Croat dialects. The only word that emerged clearly was architect and this was expectorated with a venom that would have done credit to a Spitting cobra.

  We went inside. It was rather like going into a deformed cathedral. My friend gazed at the comparatively small area left for the animals and at the enormously distorted maze which was allowed for the public, then he let his gaze wander up to where, high above, would have hung the bells, if this had been a cathedral. He shuddered and again called upon the assistance of some Serbo-Croat deity.

  ‘What for the roof so high?’ he asked me, an anyway tenuous grasp of the English tongue disintegrating under the shock of such architecture. ‘What for the roof so high, uh? They think sometimes maybe the elephant is meaning to fly up at night and be roosting?’

  Look around at the zoos of the world and you will find them filled with such architectural abortions. Unfortunately, they are still being ripped, untimely, from the architectural womb. The whole approach to the building of cages, enclosures and houses in zoos has been wrong for years and, to a large extent, still is. There are some zoos which have made major breakthroughs, but sadly, these cases are all too rare. In zoo design today, the first question that is asked is not what does the animal need, but what does the public want? In a well-run collection of animals, you should provide the following: