The orphan orangutan who broke my heart – and the lady gorillas who (quite literally) fancied the pants off me!

Larger-than-life actor BRIAN BLESSED on his extraordinary adventures with wild animals . . .

THE VOICE at the other end of the line belonged to wildlife expert Eddie Orbell, then head of big cats at Chessington Zoo. He had an unusual request.

A baby orangutan had arrived from Borneo, he said. Its parents had been murdered by hunters and the poor mite had been left traumatised.

‘We’re trying to bring him out of his shell a bit, Brian,’ said Eddie. ‘And he needs to see as many friendly faces as possible. I think he’ll like you.’

I’ve no real idea why he thought the little animal would like me — it could have been because I had a bit of a reputation as an animallover by that point in my career.

Indeed, one of my hobbies when I wasn’t filming Z Cars, or I, Claudius, or whatever, was looking after quarantined wild animals in my garden for the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries. A biblically long story — but never a dull moment!

Chessington Zoo was only a few miles from my home in Richmond, South-West London, so I was delighted to help Eddie out. I hopped into my car and got there as quickly as possible.

I think there’s no denying that all baby animals are cute. But you’d be hard pushed to find one as cute as a baby orangutan.

Because of the way their hair sticks up, they look as if they’ve just been given an electric shock, and their huge eyes shine like beacons of love. Like all young creatures, they exude wonder and innocence and can melt hearts at 50 paces.

In a building near Chessington’s monkey enclosure, I was led to a large cage with some straw in the corner. But for the life of me I couldn’t see an orangutan. ‘Has he escaped?’ I asked the keeper. ‘Hang on,’ he said, opening the cage door. ‘I’ll call him.’

‘Juan! There’s someone here to see you. Come on, Juan. Let’s have a look at you.’ The pile of straw moved slightly. ‘Juan,’ I called, joining in. ‘Please come and say hello. I’ve come all the way from Richmond to see you.’

Very, very slowly, a tiny dark hand appeared from beneath the straw.

‘That’s it,’ I said encouragingly. ‘I won’t hurt you. In fact, I’ve got a nice bottle of milk here for you.’

Slowly but surely the little hand moved the straw aside to reveal Juan, the most exquisitely lovable creature I have ever seen. I sank very slowly to my knees. ‘Hello there,’ I said, almost in tears. Honestly, these animals! ‘Why not come and give me a great big cuddle?’

BEFORE I could say another word, Juan had crawled across the floor and wrapped himself around my neck. All I wanted to do was kiss him, so for the next ten minutes or so I held him tightly and did exactly that.

I absolutely smothered the little bugger and told him a thousand times how beautiful and special he was. I meant every kiss and every word. No young animal should ever be alone and I wanted Juan to know he had a friend.

Over the coming weeks and months, I visited him as often as I could — and the moment he heard my voice he’d be on me like a shot. It was always the same routine; he’d go to the top of my head, then down to the back of my neck, across the shoulders and then round on to my chest.

Once there, he would stare at me and our eyes would lock. Then, after a moment, I’d grab him and start kissing him.

As he got a little bit older we swapped the kisses for play-fighting. I loved that little guy.

Afterwards, I’d always go next door to see the gorillas — a fabulous and, for many years, unfairly maligned species.

The ones that showed most interest in me were the four females — naturally. My word, those girls were full of mischief! Female gorillas are exceedingly sexual and if you ever sit next to some, like I have, and are the male of your particular species, you’ll have a hell of a job keeping your trousers on.

These four flirtatious females used to, quite literally, fancy the pants off me. After giving them all a hug and then having a wrestle with one or two of the males, I’d sit in the corner of the enclosure and chat to the keepers.

After a few minutes, a couple of females would wander over, ever so casually, then sit themselves down on either side of me.

The feigned nonchalance used to have the keepers and me in stitches. When they moved in for the kill, as it were, they would keep looking around as if they didn’t know I was there.

Slowly but surely, a black hairy hand would appear above my flies and start reaching for the zip, the owner of the hand still looking around as if following the flightpath of a fly or something.

Just as the zip began to slide down, I would tap the offending hand and say: ‘Ah-ah-ah-ah! Come on girls, stop it now.’ Suitably admonished, they would sit there looking genuinely embarrassed. Marvellous stuff.

You see what’s happened? I’ve become so diverted by sex-mad gorillas that I’ve completely forgotten about little Juan. Sorry about that, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s get back on track.

Because Chessington Zoo’s Eddie Orbell and I got on so well, I managed to persuade him to allow me to take Juan home once or twice.

With hindsight this was not a good idea, as orangutans are not very sociable creatures. Although it was done with the best of intentions, it unsettled my young friend. One minute I was taking him out of his cage and allowing him to experience freedom, the next I was putting him back in it.

The looks he used to give me when we arrived back at Chessington were heartbreaking — pure disappointment and mistrust — and I wish to hell I hadn’t done it.

I think the only thing that saved our friendship on these occasions was that, in the absence of any other orangutans at the zoo, Juan seemed convinced I was a relative of his — which, technically, was quite correct, as we humans share 96.4 per cent of our genetic makeup with orangutans. Did you know that? Well, of course you didn’t! I’ve only just looked it up myself.

That was our connection, then. And hard as it was for Juan being locked in a cage, at least he hadn’t suffered the fate of his parents. He was alive — and what he needed

ON MONDAY: A PANTHER IN MY KITCHEN AND A BOA ON MY BED

from me was not short spells of conditional liberty, however much I wanted to give them to him. What he needed was company, companionship and stimulation, so that’s what I resolved to provide. Whenever I wasn’t filming and could escape from my other animal responsibilities, I’d be straight down to Chessington. ‘ Where is he?’ I’d bellow, as I made my way towards the ape house. ‘ Where is that awe- inspiring ape friend of mine?’ Watching him grow over the next few years was fascinating, but it inevitably changed the nature of our relationship. By the time Juan was eight, his power was immense. But because he was never able to use his strength, he could neither gauge nor control it. This meant any physical contact between Juan and me could no longer be allowed — a terrible wrench for both of us. Gorillas can expend their energy and test their strength by doing all kinds of things: running, climbing at low level or even fighting. Orangutans, on the other hand, need simply to climb, and in the wild spend their entire lives swinging about in trees. It truly pains me to relay this to you, dear reader, but Juan lived in a concrete cage which had bars at one end and a pond and a Perspex window at the other, which separated him from the public.

OranGuTans cannot swim, so the pond was useless to him and the cage measured only five metres square. Isn’t that tragic?

But this was the sixties and seventies, when zoos were very different and much less was understood about animal welfare and mental health.

These days I would have tried to do something about it, but back then I was just a naive animal-lover. We really were in the dark ages.

Painful as it was being denied physical contact with Juan, it was certainly the right decision.

This was emphatically brought home to me one afternoon in the midseventies when, as I approached the ape house, I saw an ambulance parked outside and people running around.

To cut a long story short, Juan had attacked a keeper out of sheer frustration. The man wasn’t killed but had been very badly injured.

The assault was obviously a result of Juan’s progression from adolescence into adulthood. The enchanting little creature I’d got to know back in the sixties had vanished and in his place was a determined alpha male.

Instinctively, I felt that Juan was suffering from a deep depression, exacerbated by boredom. It had been a terrible incident, but perhaps a predictable one.

after several nights lying awake thinking about it, I came up with a plan to possibly help him. It wouldn’t solve the problem of Juan’s captivity, of course, but it might challenge him and get him interested in life again as he expended some of that energy and testosterone.

I had quite a bit of that, too, so I thought it might do us both good.

The next morning I got in my car and drove to Chessington. The zoo didn’t open until about midday, so I asked the keepers to let me in early.

‘I want to try something out with Juan,’ I said to them. ‘But you have to let me go in with him. I’ve got to relieve his boredom.’

‘We can’t do that, Brian,’ said the head keeper. ‘I think he’s beginning to lose his marbles. You saw what he did to Terry.’

‘Yes, I know, but if you’re all in there with me, nothing can really happen. Please, I beg of you. Just give me half an hour.’

although Juan was immensely powerful, I was a black belt in judo and if he attacked me I knew I could keep him away long enough to make my escape — or, at least, for the keepers to come to my aid.

They were naturally hesitant at first, but after I’d explained exactly what I had in mind, they finally agreed. I can be extremely persuasive.

My plan, in a nutshell, was first to copy Juan’s actions to cement the notion that he and I were one of a kind. after that, I’d wrestle with him for a bit — nothing too rough, just enough for him to feel a bit more like a male orangutan and not just a big ball of ginger wool.

It was important that I entered the cage with an air of confidence and love, so, as the door opened, I crawled in as bold as brass and sat cross- legged a few feet away from him. Orangutans do an awful lot of sitting, so apart from pulling a few faces and making a few noises, that was the extent of my impersonation.

It seemed to work, though, and after five minutes or so Juan crawled over to me and sat about a metre away. after I’d continued to copy him for a while and then told him what I had in mind, we began to make contact.

It started off with a little bit of shoulder- slapping, then, once I had gained sufficient confidence, I administered one or two playful pushes. This motivated Juan just enough for him to want to get involved with some wrestling.

It was fun and the closest I got to being hurt was when he pushed his jaw into my chest and bit off two of my buttons.

Because they only eat fruit, orangutans’ teeth are terribly soft, unlike a gorilla’s, so I was never in any danger. I just lifted up his chin and said ‘ah-ah-ah’, as I had with the female gorillas.

after about 30 minutes the bout came to a natural and amicable end, which was exactly what I’d been hoping for.

It was time for part three of my plan. This would have to take place on the other side of Juan’s pond, as I had no idea what his reaction would be.

Once I was in position, I began doing all kinds of physical movements while looking straight at Juan. I beat my chest, jumped up and down, slapped the top of my legs and even did a few push-ups. I made lots of ape noises.

The keepers sat watching in stunned silence — but Juan’s reaction, as with the wrestling, was exactly what I had been hoping for.

as I began to beat my chest, he stood up and walked to the edge of the water. Instead of beating his chest, he waved his arms at me as if to say, I’m the king of this castle, you great bearded idiot!

anything I did, he answered tenfold and with tremendous enthusiasm. This was the first time he’d ever been challenged, and responding was as natural to him as eating and drinking.

He Was in his element, and so was I. Have you ever challenged a fully grown orangutan before? Well, if you ever get the chance, do it! From a safe distance, of course.

There was more testosterone in that cage than in a stadium full of 17-year-old boys.

I’m by no means trying to paint myself as some kind of animal counsellor, but these shenanigans undoubtedly helped keep Juan alive and gave him a purpose in life. The moment he saw me approaching, his arms would go up in the air and he’d start screaming and clapping his hands.

But in the end, sadly, his depression did get the better of him.

I’d been naive to think I could really make enough of a difference just by popping in every couple of weeks. What about the 13 days and 22 hours when I wasn’t with him?

after that, I tried to buy Juan and get him back to Borneo, and raised a lot of money from people keen to help. But those kinds of scheme were still in their infancy and there was far too much red tape involved.

In the early eighties, not long after I had tried to buy him, he was moved to a zoo thousands of miles away in the united arab emirates.

I never saw Juan again. I’ve tried to get word of him dozens of times, but to no avail.

I wanted to know what his new environment was like and if he’d made any progress mentally. Juan would be in his early 50s now, if he’s still alive — and it’s perfectly possible that he is, and doing well. One must always live in hope.

The legacy of my remarkable relationship with Juan was that from that point on, I was positively on a mission to help animals held in captivity.

That I have him to thank for it is sad, but let’s try to look on the bright side.

If anybody reading this feels inspired to do the same, then that’s just marvellous.

ADAPTED from The Panther In The Kitchen: My Wild Life With Animals, by Brian Blessed, published by Macmillan on November 2, £20. © Brian Blessed 2017. To order a copy for £16 (offer valid to November 4, 2017; P&P free), visit www. mailshop.co.uk/books or call 0844 571 0640.