Killer Whales, Tigers, Sex, Drugs, and Rock n Roll.

Killer Whales, Tigers, Sex, Drugs,

and

Rock ‘n’ Roll.

The untold story

of

Windsor Safari Park.

A collection of stories, based on actual events.

TERENCE M BOBROWICZ.

© Terence Michael Bobrowicz. 2009.

Dedication.

 "I dedicate this book to the greatest friend any man could ever of had, Steven Craig.  Without his deep friendship, strong counsel, love, and constant none stop bloody moaning, this book simply would never have existed. There are no words that can ever express the debt I owe him, neither as a writer nor a friend."

-o0o-

Table of Contents – Volume One.

Chapter 1. Endings and Beginnings.

Chapter 2. The Interviews.

Chapter 3. Val's Story - If I Never Knew your Name.

Chapter 4. First Day at the Park.

Chapter 5. First Night at the Park.

Chapter 6. Weird New World.

Chapter 7. Hacking It.

Chapter 8. Rocky’s Story.

Chapter 9. Stinky Dave’s Story.

Chapter 10. Lulu.

Chapter 11. In at the Deep End.

Chapter 12. Val’s Story - And the Singer Sings His Song.

Chapter 13. Hunting Seals.

Chapter 14. Val’s Story - Last Thing on my Mind.

Chapter 15. Fate.

Chapter 16. A State of Unknown.

Chapter 17. A Room with a View.

Chapter 18. From a Flat E to a C.

Chapter 19. Mechanics.

Chapter 20. Five Foot Julie.

Chapter 21. Blue Bollocks, Blue Light, Blue Blood.

Chapter 22. United – Sid’s Story.

Chapter 23. Sparked Out and Stoned Blind.

Chapter 24. Gandalf the Grey.

Chapter 25. Rubber Plants don't Bounce.

Chapter 26. Clair’s Story - Pebbles at the Window.

Chapter 27. The Step’s of Eden.

Preface.

As an naive young man no more that an ordinary working class lad from the streets London, in the spring of 1975 through a series of inexplicable events, accidentally I blundered my way into the intriguing, often secretive, and always dangerous world of captive marine mammals.

Wanting somewhere to live rather than a job; armed only with my experience of middle management, a page from the Situations Vacant column, and the optimistic words of Accommodation provided, I applied for the position of a Filtration Engineer at the Dolphinarium of Royal Windsor Safari Park, which in keeping with my naivety were two things I knew absolutely nothing about. With a proven management record, and a great deal of hardly believable blagging, bizarrely I was offered an opportunity of a lifetime to actually manage the parks Dolphinarium.

Putting aside my reservations about Ramu a four and half ton killer whale, one with a worldwide reputation of being the most dangerous in captivity, all my misgivings clung to the slim but hopeful phrase of Training given, and soon I found myself immersed in world of wonderfully independently minded sea creatures, while living with, and being surrounded by a safari park full of amazing exotic animals, and a host of colourfully insane animal keepers, each of them determined to live life to the full, and in varying degrees equally as insane as I, the start of a roller coaster adventure which would have the power to change me, my life, and the way I thought about this wonderful world.

Over time, I had always been amazed to watch tears of laughter roll down the cheeks of my friends, or on hearing their sudden gasps of astonishment, and sometimes maybe to see the sadness reflected in their eyes, as I recalled to them my half forgotten memories of that time. Not until the luxury of my retirement, along with the continuous badgering and the non stop moaning of the greatest of all my friends, Steven Craig, did I eventually commit pen to paper, all the while constantly being reminded by him that, such stories were far too good to be lost to history, or, that it would be selfish of me not to share them with those that might enjoy reading them.

Four decades on, and eight years in the writing, volume one in the series of this untold story of Royal Windsor Safari Park in now complete, and hope it will give the reader a glimpse into the magical, hardly believable, barely known world of animal keeping. A genuinely remarkable first hand account of danger, joy, heartbreaking sadness, heroism, death and romance, a true adventure, a story of how once long ago a menagerie of wonderfully exotic, loved, and needed wild creatures, and a handful of mad-cap Windsor Safari Park Rangers, unselfishly and bravely lived their lives on the brink, and gave their full to each and every dangerous day.

Killer Whales, Tigers, Sex, Drugs and Rock n Roll, a journey of discovery.

Acknowledgments.

I would like to thank Steven Craig, Trixie Vorderman, and Malcolm Brown, for all their help, guidance, and advice, throughout the writing of this book.

It is human nature to think wisely and act in an absurd fashion.

Anatole France, 1844–1924.

-o0o-

"Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains un-awakened."

Anatole France, 1844–1924.

-o0o-

"Live for today, screw tomorrow.

You might not have one."

Simon Compton Hall, 1954-1982.

-o0o-

Chapter One – Volume One.

Endings and Beginnings.

Discovery!  There are many things that can alter the course of a man's life, things unsuspected that at first are hardly noticed, things that can creep slowly upon a man, then catch him unaware leaving him unguarded and confused.  There are those things too that come suddenly, events and circumstances that have the power to change, things that can stop a man in his tracks, alter him out of all recognition completely and utterly, things that force him to think, contemplate and maybe even feel about the world around him in ways he had never considered before.

War, disaster, catastrophe, all things the world would rather have never known of, things which bring about unwanted wretched changes, which in most cases are beyond the power of any single man.  But there are events too, that for a single man can be equally as life changing.  The death of someone dearly loved, a deep passion for other left shattered and in ruin, or maybe the surprise of something new, wonderful, and unexpected, all things which can leave their mark.

As well there are things that one man alone might become aware of, see, and recognise; small insignificant things that pass neglected by the world at large, yet their significance is nonetheless diminished.  Turning left instead of right, casually picking up a ringing telephone, returning the smile of someone just met, or even just possibly, just being caught in the gaze of a whale for the very first time, at a safari park on the edge of a town called Windsor.  There are many things that can that can alter the course of a man's life and bring about those sudden changes.

To this day I am still left bewildered as to how it was I found myself standing there, there at that poolside in the Dolphinarium of Royal Windsor Safari Park in spring of ‘75, while from no more than just a few short feet away, a great beast, one of awful power and strength, an orca hung motionless in the water, all the while holding me intently in its gaze.

Somehow unsolicited Lady Fate had brought each of us to that place, that time, that moment of change, yet still her fickle hand had not yet opened fully to reveal to us, all the astonishing events that were about to unfold themselves, those between an awe inspiring animal of the deep, and a man from the back streets of London, for each no more than brief moment of our lives.

As I stood there and the world busily passed that unnoticed neglected moment.  He, Ramu, with his great steely black-grey eye firmly fixed unflinching on my every movement, gave a deep cold penetrating look which made me think if only for a few seconds, that somehow he was studying me.  It was a gaze which sent a sudden icy finger of realisation shivering down my spine, an altogether unusual feeling, one I had never experienced before, something unexplainable that had no reasoning, something that resisted even words.  Inexplicably I felt as though that great leviathan knew all and everything that he ever wanted or needed to know about me, a look that made me feel vulnerable, exposed, as though naked before him.  It was something that triggered feelings within me that I had no rational explanation for, those I really didn't understand, in the flickering of a moment that great whale had somehow seen me, not just a man standing there on the poolside, but something more than that, something altogether deeper, maybe he knew my feelings, my thoughts and possibly even the being that I was too.

I wondered whether it was something that all men felt when facing an orca for the first time, did he really have some incomprehensible knowledge of me, perhaps of all men, something which was deeper than just an observation.  His size, power and cutting teeth would all required respect, but in that moment I knew instinctively that it was Ramu's mind that was going to be the greatest danger, a thing I would have to know much more about if I were to pursue my new job at the park, and get to know that fascinating yet frightening creature better.  I knew too that if I were to stay, he, Ramu, with such a mind, would always be the master of any future relationship we two might ever have together, and although I didn't realise it then, that one small flickering thought that happened in those few seconds, were to be the cornerstone of a bond that over time would grow between us, change me, my thoughts, and my life completely.

I don't know how or why I should have stumbled across such a thought on that day, but I did understand as though an echo of something lost, something inexplicably primeval, that the key to understanding Ramu, maybe even all whales, wasn't what I a human being was thinking about him, but instead what was in his mind, how he though of me, us, we creatures that had taken him from his family and were keeping him in that pool.  Size, teeth, fear, and even the wide gap of our species had little to do with any of it.  His feelings, his emotions, and my empathy for him were where the key to understanding Ramu lay.

It was perfectly true that Ramu with his reputation was an angry and dangerous being.  He was angry at the loss of his freedom, angry with us, we that had taken it from him, had denied him of everything he knew, understood and loved.

As I stood there it took no effort at all to know that he was fully aware of the unwanted situation he had found himself in.  I had never seen nor been so close to a whale before, but somehow I understood his anger, his sadness and that he knew too, that while still holding his adolescent memories he would never fulfil his true destiny in the wide open seas of the wild, knowing he would never be able to follow the matriarch of his own pod, have a family, guide his young, feel the thrill, the experience of an adrenalin filled rush while hunting with those of his own kind, nor swim with wonder as his companion amid the great white icebergs of the cold northern oceans.  Was it any wonder then, that he, Ramu had such a fearsome reputation, such anger, and every right to feel that way?

Having seen the way he had behaved and attacked his presenter on the whale show I had just been watching, and having listened to the things I was being told about him, I knew it would be wise to be cautious of him, but with that one look in that fleeting moment, my instinctive feelings of fear began to be replaced with those of sadness. 

Knowing this and thinking such thoughts didn't make Ramu any the less dangerous than the being he was, but rightly or wrongly for me at least, from that moment onwards, from that my very first day in my new job, Ramu was never just a captive whale in a pool, for me he was an entity, an emotion, he was a sentient soul that was lost, and I felt his pain as though it were my own.

What I was completely unaware of as he held me briefly in his fixed gaze, was that if I did stay to take up the challenges of my new vocation at the park, that endeavour in itself would pale into insignificance, compared to the incomprehensible unique adventure that I was about to embark on with that remarkable being, a whale they had named Ramu.

The intense feeling of that first encounter with Ramu was only one of the many that saturated my treasure-trove of colourful memories, all acquired over my decade long journey with so many amazing animals, and the curious mad cap people that had once haunted that exotic hill in Windsor, but alas for me my adventure was almost at its end, nonetheless that place, those who worked and lived there, and most of all the animals, would always stay with me and bring me comfort throughout all the years of my life.  

On that my last day at the park sitting there on the veranda of my bungalow in my favourite green wicker chair on that warm August eve.  I can remember quite vividly that although it was still early, I had by some means managed to get halfway through my first bottle of wine for that night, and of course, as I did most evenings, the second of my well rolled mind numbing wacky backy cigarettes.  Bob Seger was playing, Against the wind on my sound box, and I found his lyrics appropriate but maybe a little too poignant under my new found circumstances.

The years rolled slowly past and I found myself alone.

Bob's words seemed to sum up that moment for me and I felt a touch more than a few pangs of sadness as he continued.

Surrounded by strangers I thought were my friends.

Sultan, my white Afghan companion and by now probably my only friend, was lying on the lawn just a few feet in front of me.  Against a backdrop of ragged golden clouds, the red sun was dipping behind the huge pine tree at the back of Mushtie's bungalow, and over its grey slate rooftop; the call of the macaws could be heard piercing the summer evening sky with their high pitched bloody screeching as ever they did.  

Beyond in the distance where once stood Aunty Gurts magic roundabout and Old Bill's beautiful rose garden.  I could hear the audience applauding for the last show of that day in the Dolphinarium, punctuated by the sound of Freya my killer whale hitting the water with a great crack, one which sounded like a single muffled rifle shot.  Slowly I drifted into my deep wine soaked thoughts while reminiscing about my time at the park and in the background Bob continued.

Never worried about paying or even how much I owed.  Breaking all the rules and still running against the wind.

That evening I heard for the last time the magpies squabbling halfway down the hill in Magpie tree, and in the morning I would hear too for the very last time, the roaring of our magnificent English lions from the big cat reserve at the bottom of our hill.  I’d probably even miss the screeching of all those damn parrots calling every one of us from our beds at sunrise too.

I thought of all the crazy, weird, and truly wonderful people I had met over the years.  The lifelong friendships and enemies I had formed.  The hurtful losses, the joy, the sadness and all those breathtaking loves and lovers that I had taken, and of course my enduring thought was that of my animals, both past and present.  I knew I would never forget the totally insane madness of that utterly unique way of life, and that I would too keep it all tucked away somewhere, somehow in the deepest recesses of my soul, memories that would stand with me always.

As I sat there indulging myself in my own self pity along with all my sadness.  I was only too painfully aware that never again in my life would fate let me experience such an amazing journey, such an incredible time, nor probably to feel such deep emotions, those crammed full to overflowing with all the good and bad things that only living life on the brink on a safari park can ever bring, and that realisation left me feeling empty and alone, now, all of it lost forever.

It really is true to say that the events of that decade had irreversibly changed me as a person; maybe some changes may have made me a better stronger man, I truly do hope so.  But sadly and with deep regret, I know too that changes were brought about in me that made me melancholy, moody, and unfortunately maybe even less likeable.  It had been an implausibly fantastic and totally insane journey, one that I knew few people had ever taken.  Not down some great undiscovered fast flowing river, nor even through some vast impenetrable landscape, but a journey through life, that had been as equally tough and wonderful as any far flung jungle adventure could ever have been, but now for me sadly the journey was almost at its end.

One day, I said aloud to Sultan.  One day old luv, I might write a book about all this shit, and my God what a lot there is to tell!

All those funny stories and the sad ones too, and didn’t we both have lots of fun along the way old mate.  I’ll tell you what Sultan.  I continued.  I’ll even write about you too, what do you think about that then?

He was never just a dog Sultan, even as a pup he was much more than that.  With his impulsive independence and without effort, he had the power to fill a room and my life with his uncompromising love and steadfast presence, for me always the epitome of a true friend.

As was his way he just sat there unconcernedly ignoring me, no doubt thinking to himself.  The silly sod's mumbling again.

But who the hell would believe it all Sult; I continued muttering.

He looked up, crossed his leg’s and chomped his lips, trying all the while to fool me into thinking that he was genuinely interested by what I had to say.  But I knew he really didn’t give a damn, he never did.  Nonetheless I continued pretending and carried on my mumbling.  

You know what old luv, there’s one thing that I am certain about though.  If ever I were to write that book, I’ll make damn sure none of my animals are ever forgotten.

I pointed in the direction of the Dolphinarium, but Sultan just lay there continuing in all his arrogance that I was really saying something that he was genuinely interested in, like chasing rabbits over at Broken Tree field, or maybe his dinner later that night.

All those people up there are all having so much fun, I continued.  But those animals, my animals, are paying for all that laughter with their lives dear Sultan.

He looked at me again for a moment, and then gave a great gaping yawn.

Oh sorry mate, am I boring you?  I said.  You’re as bad as they all are.

I closed one eye and held my glass of wine up to the sun.  Through it I watched the fiery orb as its distorted shape slipped away behind the trees, lower, lower and then finally it was gone.

That’s it Sultan, I said with a wistfully sigh.  

Grudgingly he turned and looked at me again.

Our very last day at the park old luv, it’s all over now and in the morning we’ll just be part of its history, gone and maybe forgotten forever.

Sometimes not all the time only occasionally, I go back to that place.  Not physically, in fact I have never been back there since that warm August night.  No!  It's more a land of memory for me now.  Over time fate saw fit to give me the luxury of free time, and standing back from the frenzied pace of this our modern world, and armed only with those illusive precious memories, I was finally able to mix the intoxicating alchemy of sentences with words, forging them in the small hours of the mornings into ideas, thoughts and feelings, and too being able to keep that promise to my long lost friend Sultan, one that I made to him all those years ago while sitting there with a heavy heart, confused, stoned, and regretful amid the wreckage of my life in a creaking old green wicker chair, on a veranda at Windsor Safari Park.

No!  It’s only in memory that I go back to that place of sheer enchantment to spend time with those that were once real friends, in a place that now the world has half-forgotten.  Even so, still after all these years I still catch myself saying Been there, done that, or something will trigger a long half-forgotten thought and I find myself thinking, Jesus!  Did that really happen to us all?  Now and again my recollections are sad ones, the animals I had lost over the years, the friends that had been killed, the drugs, the booze, the toll it took on some of us, me more than most, but still the backdrop to that crazy, madly insane and wonderful way of life was always the laughter, the smiling eyes and our soul deep, uncontrollable, unfathomable love of it all, on that damn unforgettable place.

It’s strange how such elusive recollections can be triggered by such simple things in everyday life.  A tune, an aroma, or some unrelated picture or event, then suddenly you’re back there in your mind whether you wish to be there or not.  The rarefied scent of laurel flowers in May has that effect on me even now, one slight smell and their elusive magical fragrance will take hold and in my mind and unexpectedly I’m back there, back at the park, back in a land that I truly loved.  I’m striding with confidence once again, out of the staff door of the old mansion house after signing on for duty at the gun office; I’m walking out back into my past, back into the sunlight, passing the old black gates of the courtyard onto the main road where once groves of rhododendrons, and my lost laurel trees amiably grew on the steep bank next to that roadside, the bouquet from hundreds of those insignificant little flowers so strong, so heady, so wonderfully intoxicating that their unconscious memory would always have the power to rekindle my half forgotten thoughts.  Those of wonderfully eccentric people, and a myriad of curious events that would shape me and my life, perpetual thoughts that it seems will never die.

Beyond those banks of memory, the road wound its way to the summit of the hill where the Dolphinarium occupied the highest ground, and that’s where I once worked.  The word work hardly explains the way others and I felt about what we were doing back then; it was more a labour of love, a way of life and a vocation that is now lost to history, almost forgotten along with our singularly unique community of misfits. 

None of us were ever there for a wage packet, almost every other job in the world paid better, and they didn't have the dangers that many of us faced each and every day.  God alone knows that working anywhere on the park at that time wasn’t going to make anyone of us rich; we keepers didn’t consider financial gain, although it never did stop us from moaning about our wages and conditions.  In fact it is true to say that we looked after our animals better than ourselves; they certainly ate much better than we ever did.  Health and Safety just didn’t exist in those days, there was no union for animal keepers, and our human rights counted for very little, all long before the days of mass communication.  Even the notion of conservation itself was still only the reserve of tree hugging flower loving hippies, and maybe just a few sensible voices that had yet to be heard.

Even so, if an animal keeper was pushed they would tell you that it’s the animals that count.  Our charges were all to us, it was the animals that meant everything to us all, and for we keepers our true reward was the love we held for those animals, something which sometimes was even returned.

For me that is one of the most durable memories of that time, the heroic dedication and sacrifices that those keepers made for their love of animals, along with all things of the natural world, even in the face of ever present danger.  But alas there were times when instinct and courage alone were not enough and the outcome could end in tragedy, one of our animals might be hurt or even worse, lost to us.  Sadly there were too occasions when one of our own number would not make it back to the gun office.  The ones that paid the ultimate price for what they loved and believed in.

For we keepers that were there, we that lived through it all.  Their bright memories will always live on, and maybe one day one of us might just write that book and bear testimony to that rare brotherhood that was once Windsor Safari Park.  Try to explain to those that don't know what wonders were once in our minds, our hearts, and our very souls; tell the tale of the discoveries we made between and about ourselves back then, in a time and place that is now lost forever.

Each of us knew even then, and still do today, that we the Windsor Keepers, each of us with our love of animals were once and still are, the true forgotten soldiers of nature, a breed apart, and that the few of us that still remain, are even now still Breaking all the rules and running against the wind.

Chapter Two.

The Interviews.

Like most urbanites, I knew very little about animals, my only real experience of them was by way of having family pets or maybe watching them on TV.  Certainly the thought of becoming an animal keeper had never crossed my mind.  At that time when I had just battled my way through to the end of a very short soul destroying marriage, one which had left me utterly disillusioned with my self-esteem at its lowest ebb, through nothing more than a chance meeting, I found redemption; comfort and salvation in the form of a beautiful blue eyed blonde that without question was to become the love of my life.  Valerie picked me up from life's gutter, dusted me down, put fire in my belly and because of her stunning looks, put a great deal of lead in my pencil too.  For me she was everything a man could ever have wanted, and I knew that from the very first time I had cast my eyes on her.

Along with Val came one of those monumental and very rare gifts that sometimes life gives a man, if only once in a while.  Loving her was also closely followed by the love I found with, and in, her two endearing children, four year old Emma and Arlo who was three, and soon they became my reasons for living, three wonderful natural endowments that gave motivation and brought purpose into my life.

For ten years I had been working for the very prestigious John Lewis Partnership.  But unfortunately through nothing more than my own stupidity and a total lack of common sense, I successfully manoeuvred myself into a 42 B tits up situation, and lost myself the only job that I had really enjoyed doing.  For the next year or so I scurried around skipping from one poorly paid bum job to another in a vain attempt to earn enough cash, so that Val the kids and I could find a place, and somehow end up all living together.

Val and the kids lived in a small village just outside Henley-on-Thames, the place where I had been working, and had also learnt far too many unwanted character building lessons, and through my disastrous marriage to Sandy who by then was my ex-wife, or maybe because of it, my coveted job also started to slide down the pan, eventually leaving me little choice other than to give up my comfortable riverside flat, and once again return to the back streets of Slough, the warmth of my family, and the refuge of my old home. 

For an amorous 28 year old man that wanted nothing more from life than to be with his new found love, my restless situation fuelled my determination to bring about change, a frustrating and tough time in my life, but Val and the kids made all the hardships worthwhile, and were too the catalyst for me to keep looking for any opportunity that might present itself, hoping all the while on improving our situation.  Although I turned my hand to everything I could think of, regrettably nothing was forthcoming and regardless of effort, my own self belief, and all the encouragement that Val could give, progress seemed nothing more than futile. 

The first day of March back in 1975, started much the same as any other, but its outcome was going to change lives in ways that neither Val nor I could ever have predicted or foreseen.  It; not so simply, changed everything completely, utterly and forever, including me as a man.

I saw an advert in the vacancies column of our local newspaper.  It was for a Filtration Engineer in the Dolphinarium at Windsor Safari Park and it read, Training given and Accommodation provided.  It seems absurd but I didn't think for one moment about what sort of qualifications I might need to do such a unique job, or even how exciting it might be to work around dolphins on a Safari Park.  The only thought that I had in my mind was the accommodation that went with the work.  Might it be the answer I was looking for I wondered?

It was a long shot and I knew it, more than likely I would probably never be able to pull it off, but even though the chances were slim, it was an opportunity that I wasn't going to let slip by. 

I knew absolutely nothing about water filtration, and if it was at all possible even less about dolphins or exotic animals.  Nonetheless at the back of my mind I had a woolly notion that it might just be the answer I had been looking for, and that somehow Val the kids and I might finally end up living together.  Discussing the idea and seeking approval from my dear old mum, she with just cause and the wisdom of years thought the whole idea impracticable, silly, and totally absurd.

Another one of your hare-brained schemes, she said, knowing me as only she could.  She also knew too of the reputation our local Safari Park had, and as any mother would be, she was worried about the danger I might be putting myself into too.

They have a killer whale at that Dolphinarium, she said in all her concern.  It has to be dangerous or they wouldn't have called it a killer whale would they?  You must be mad to even think of such a thing, tigers and lions running loose all over the place, madness, nothing but madness!  She said disapprovingly.

Even if it was a hare-brained scheme, with the excitement of finding a possible solution to my accommodation problem, slowly I developed my plan and paying little heed to her wise words, I rang the number all the same.

Madness, sheer bloody madness, she repeated.

I talked to a guy called Francis Rendell who turned out to be the Curator of the park.  He asked me some basic questions and after a little thought, much to my surprise, within a week with my best and only suit on, I was walking out of his office from an interview with the words, We'll let you know tumbling around in my mind, along with the numbing realisation that my plan hadn't really been very well thought out at all.

I was totally deflated after what turned out to be little more than an informal chat, and felt sure I had blown it.  I knew I had a good track record and had given a positive account of myself, but I also knew that my total lack of knowledge about water filtration was going to let me down.  All I was really doing; was blagging my way through it all, it was all I had anyway.  I knew nothing about real engineering, only what my father a motor mechanic had taught me, and I knew even less about the world of dolphins and whales. 

A week passed and I resigned myself to the obvious, then to my surprise and delight I was invited back for a second interview with the boss of the park himself, a Mr Gary Smart, and so over the next few days at the local library, I boned up as best I could seeking out scant facts and information about water purification, dolphins, orca whales, and Windsor Safari Park in particular, hoping against hope that my ridiculous plan might just have a small chance of actually working.

Even though Val wanted us all to live together, she and the kids were secure in their little council house in Henley, and being a practical woman, like my mother she was a little sceptical about the whole idea, particularly as neither of us had a clue as to what accommodation might actually be on offer.  I needed to see the place before we could make any sensible decisions, I desperately needed that interview, and somehow against the odds to land that elusive job.  After all I thought to myself, how hard can it be?  I’ll only be tinkering around with spanners.

I was surprised when I walked into Gary’s office for the first time, as it seemed much smaller than one would have expected.  Gary was sitting behind a large mahogany office desk strewn with papers, circus memorabilia, and a large rhino horn on a plaque.  Dominating the room on the wall to his right hung a large oil painting of the late Billy Smart, who I found out later was actually Gary’s grandfather.  Gary smiled, introduced himself, and invited me to sit.  He looked to be no more than twenty years old, and it struck me that he was surely far too young to be in charge of Britain's premier Safari Park, with what I assumed must have had many unusual responsibilities. 

However as the interview progressed his brisk regimental manner and assured confidence left me in no doubt as to why he was actually the boss, and it took no time at all for me to realise that he was in fact a very capable man.  As well as being young, he was too strikingly good-looking, with blond hair, a short moustache, and flashing blue eyes, that for all the world made me feel like I was being interviewed by a young Errol Flynn.

Catching me by surprise he told me that although the park had advertised for an Engineer, he was actually looking for someone to manage his Dolphinarium and his statement totally bewildered me.

I'm screwed now, I thought.

He went on to explain that had he of advertised for such a position he would have been swamped with applications, and that it was his way of filtering out what he called, the bloody ego trippers.

And prats like me looking for a flat, I thought.

The interview consisted of all the usual questions and answers, and was constantly interrupted by the continual chatter of his radio transmitter, which had even more questions and answers than my interview did.  The crackling airwaves were full of weird, wonderful, and mundane things such as tigers, animal feed, and a sick baby marmoset, and whether or not the water in the restaurant was back on, and it quickly became apparent that the park was a very busy and dynamic place.

He continued telling me that the reason he had given me a second interview, was because of my ten years of experience as a manager with the Partnership, and flatteringly, the way I presented myself to Francis on my first interview.

Christ, I thought.  Blagging really does work then.

I politely told him that although confident, I was a little worried about my limited knowledge of filtration.  By which; what I really meant was that I was shit scared and knew sod all about any of it.  Thankfully he reassured me by saying that he would see that I would be given all the right training, as and when I needed it.  The whole interview surprisingly only lasted for about twenty-five minutes or so, and when over he asked me to wait in the reception area.  At that point my heart sank when disappointingly I found another guy, also in his Sunday best waiting in the foyer to see Gary too.

Bollocks, I thought.  No way am I going to get that accommodation now.

After a few minutes the other Sunday best suit was called into Gary's office, leaving me with the notion that at least I had been considered for a job as a Dolphinarium Manager of all things.  Looking smart in his pseudo army uniform that everyone about the place seemed to be wearing, I was genuinely pleased to see Francis again as he walk in to the reception room.  Had it not been for his approval on my first interview I wouldn't have been anxiously sitting there then?  Before I had a chance to thank or say anything to him we were interrupted by the pretty young blonde receptionist, who pointed at me as though she knew something I didn’t, and with a smile said, He’ll get it!

Francis introduced her as Paula and while doing so the second Sunday suit walked past us all, politely nodded his head and without saying anything disappeared out of the door.  He had only been with Gary for a few minutes and I thought.

A-up, might be in with a chance after all.

Paula’s phone rang and she asked if I would go through to Gary’s office again, which closely followed by Francis I did.  Before I had time to think, Gary abruptly said.

Assuming he already knew my answer, in a confident matter of fact manner without hesitating he said, We would like to offer you the position of Dolphinarium Manager, then continued telling, rather than asking me. 

Move on site Sunday afternoon, and start work at eight sharp Monday morning.

I was totally shocked; I had cracked it after all.  My long shot had actually paid off.

Wow, thank you very much, I said, still reeling from what I'd just been told.

Would you like to have a look around the park and see the flat now?  He asked.

It's a flat, it's a flat, it’s a fucking flat.  I said to myself, barely able to contain my excitement.

Err, yes please, I replied, I would very much.

Francis smiled at me and stuck out his hand saying, Congratulations Terry, and welcome to the park.

Flat, flat, flat, I kept saying to myself.

Over his radio Francis arranged for the Assistant Curator to come to the office to show me around the park, and more significantly for me to see the bloody flat at long last.  I waited outside the office block in the car park near the main gate, but before I had time to light up my by then much-needed Marlboro, a beat up old Land Rover pretending to be a zebra stopped in front of me, and a short skinny frame leaned over and opened the passenger door.

I’m Jeff Maggs, but everyone calls me Maggsy, he said.  Climb in."

He gave me a warm welcome and seemed like a nice guy in a real hurry.

Lots to do, lots to do, he said.  Have to be a whistle stop tour I’m afraid.

With that I climbed into his rover and we pulled away with a jerk, and drove the short distance to a large green gate that stood at the entrance to the baboon reserve, and again he slammed on the brakes with another jolt.  The gate slowly rolled back and as it did so he pointed at two aggressive looking Alsatian dogs, both collared with long chains to either side of the gate.

Watch out for the one on the right, he said.  "That’s Magoo, he's bloody infamous, and at one time or another he's had everybody, the crazy old bastard.

Had?  I asked ominously.

Yeah, had, you know, bitten?

Do people often get bitten, I asked worryingly.

In an almost cavalier fashion he replied.

"Well it’s just an occupational hazard around here mate, but no kidding watch out for that fucking dog.  Our Magoo’s got a lot of hate in him, hates boons, hates keepers, and hates cats too.  He hates the other bloody dog and he even hates his fucking dinner, he's a right shit!"

He explained that the Boons as he called them, would sometimes try to make a bid for freedom when the gates were open, and that the dogs were there as a deterrent. 

To the left of us we passed a long wooden hut and Jeff told me that it was the night quarters for the baboons, and shelter for the keepers in rough weather.  In front of it stood a hard standing area all laid out with hubcaps, windscreen wipers and an array of car parts.

Trophies, he said.  That’s Boons for yeah!  Nick bleeding anything they will.  We call em Mechanics some of them are good with wing mirrors, some at rubber window strips, and all of the little blighters are bloody experts at getting car boots open, they’ll do anything for a salad sandwich, the little sods.

We wound our way past a massive heap of stone blocks covered with apes, and as we made our way around to a second lock gate, Jeff pointed out anything he thought might be of interest to me, giving me my first insider’s view of a safari park. 

I sat there listening to him, hardly believing that an hour earlier I was having a cup of tea with my old mum talking about Coronation Street, and there I suddenly was on a different planet, with some weird sort of alien guy that seemed to be on speed, dodging baboons in the middle of the Berkshire countryside, and experiencing the very strange world that I had abruptly been dumped into, one I could hardly believe nor could ever have imagined.

Cheetahs next, then the lions and we’ll finish with the Tigers.  Maggsy said.

A small hut stood at each gate and next to each, one or two keepers stood with double-barrelled shotguns slung over their shoulders.

Tez my old luv, I thought.  This is a long bloody way from stacking tins of beans at Waitrose.

The keeper’s job was to guard and operate the massive iron gates between each of the reserves, and as we pulled up to each hut in succession Maggsy introduced me to each keeper in turn.  As he spoke to each of them I began to realise that I didn’t understand very much of what they were saying to each other, and that they seemed to be talking a sort of Safari speak that made little sense to me at all. 

As one would expect, of all the big cats it was the tigers that looked the most impressive.  Disappointingly there was little activity from them as they just lay around on another enormous stack of rocks about twenty yards from the road, and being so close to them I could see just how large those natural killing machines really were, they were awe-inspiring, intimidating and magnificent too.  Their big yellow eyes seemed to follow us as we slowly passed by, giving me the distinct impression they were weighing up their next potential meal, and that we were it.  It was little wonder then that there were so many guns around the place.

Wouldn't get away with throwing tins of beans at them, I thought.

With the lightning tour of the big cats over, we climbed the steep hill on the south side of the park.  The land to the left beyond a high fence was covered in deep impenetrable woodland, and Maggsy explained that it was Crown Estate property and was known on the park as Queensland.

Everything on the park has a safari nick name, he added.

I’m beginning to realise that, I answered, recalling his baffling lock gate conversations.

As we drove to the top of the hill I was spellbound by the sights and sounds all around me, and as I looked out I was struck by how natural and unspoilt the park actually looked.  Far to the north a large lake occupied the flat ground of the valley floor, and beyond this stood more thick woodland of horse chestnuts and old oaks.  Everywhere dotted around on the lush green lawns, there were large flocks of both Canadian and white geese gaggling, all of which paid little regard for road boundaries as they wandered where and how they pleased. 

Scattered around on the rolling slopes of cropped grass were large thatched wooden parasols, each with picnic tables and seats under them, dotted here and there more ancient gnarled oaks stood, all of which gave the view a sort of timeless quality.  Sitting half way up the hill was a large building with green lettering on its side that read Reptile House and before us lay a huge heavily fenced area with rhinos standing in their paddock, wistfully looking out to the distant horizon.

Beyond this, perched almost at the top of the hill and dominating all the land below, stood a very large old mansion house defiantly holding its ground, dazzling white in the warm sunlight of the morning.  Looking at it then for the first time, I had no idea how significant a part that great old house would play in my life in the years to come.

Jeff wove his way in and out of the slow moving traffic, cursing anyone who got in his way, every now and then waving to someone in bush uniform, or slowing down for a brief chat. 

Before long I found myself at the top of the hill at what Maggsy called Top Section.  This consisted of a large restaurant, an arcade full of slot machines, a gift shop, and a few bird aviaries, and next to all of this an enclosed area that housed the kiddie’s farm and petting area.  Jeff told me that it used to be the walled garden, where once all the fruit and veg had been grown for the mansion in bygone days, and that now it was hundreds of years old. 

Climbing out of his Land Rover I looked to the east and rolling out before me as far as I could see was one of the most amazing views I had ever seen.  Maggsy explained that the park was built on the highest hill around for thirty-five miles in any direction.

You can see the world from here, he said.

I was totally captivated by what I was looking at, and just wanted to stand there drinking in that magnificent, wonderfully awe inspiring view, but Jeff gave me little time to study it properly and disappointingly we had to move on, leaving the splendour of that view for some another day. 

Then suddenly Jeff started laughing and said out loud, What the fuck!

Looking up I turned to see a keeper, his uniform covered in animal crap almost from head to toe.  He was limping towards us with a grimace on his face and with one hand holding his side, and the other trying to brush off the shit he said.

That bastard donkey, he's done it again, that’s the second time he’s kicked me.

Ignoring me he went on to explain to Maggsy that he had been cleaning out the kiddies zoo area, and that the beast had refused to move for him so he had given it a good hard slap on its rump, but when he bent over to pick up a shovel, the damn thing kicked, him which in turn sent him sprawling into a pile of donkey crap, the one which he had only just finished sweeping into a nice neat little pile. 

Maggsy and I laughed but it was obvious that the keeper was in pain.  Jeff suggested that he should change his uniform and then go to the first aid post for treatment, and as the poor guy limped off Jeff turned to me and said.

Well there's two lessons for yah mate, never turn your back on an animal.

There was a long pause but he said nothing more, so I said.

And the second is?

This job mate, this bloody job is just full of shit.

He said while laughing but I understood he was using it as a metaphor, one that I didn't fully understand at that time, but one that for me would eventually become prophetic.

Putting the incident behind us he pointed to a building with a large cage attached to its front which housed