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In the summer here, it’s a complete madhouse. The doors are always open and the peacocks just wander into the hall. There was even a time I went into the kitchen and found one sitting on the hob! We had all these little bantams living here last year too, because Bertie the cockatoo would throw food on the floor and they’d come in and clear it up – quite helpful, really. Isn’t it odd how accustomed you become to what’s normal? I’ll walk outside in the morning to see a wallaby on the lawn, and I don’t think anything of it…’
This enthusiastic, stream-of-consciousness disquisition comes from Lady Mcalpine, who, dressed in her trademark head-to-toe Pucci, is entertaining me in the sitting-room of her animal-filled home near Henley-on-thames a couple of weeks before the coronavirus outbreak strikes the UK. Curled up on her lap is Leo the tabby cat, while at her feet are a pair of pugs, Algie and Alice, and two Labradors, Bea and the aptly named Boris (‘He’s big and blond and he bumps into things a lot, but we think he’s very intelligent…’). After proffering a refill of my wine glass and another of her cook’s excellent home-baked cheese biscuits, Judy, as she insists I call her, regales me with anecdotes about Fawley Hill, the 200-acre countryside estate of which she is the characterful châtelaine. It was, she says, ‘almost by accident’ that her late husband, Sir William Mcalpine, came to transform the property and grounds into a sanctuary for more than 20 different wildlife species. ‘Back in the 1970s, he was on the council for London and Whipsnade Zoos, and at one meeting they mentioned that they were going to have to cull a lot of animals,’ she recalls. ‘Bill said, “Don’t do that, send them here!”’
So it was that wallabies came to Fawley Hill, and though the process was not exactly seamless – a few escapees managed to sneak under the fences and were later found camping out opposite the pub in Henley (‘Bill probably did more for the temperance movement in that one day than ever before!’) – they proved to be the first of many inhabitants of the Mcalpine menagerie, which is now also home to deer, tapirs, llamas, chinchillas, meerkats and lemurs, among other residents. When Judy married Sir William in 2004, she brought along several goats from her family home in Kent, welcoming the opportunity to become the joint custodian of his growing brood, before eventually taking the reins after his death two years ago. She continues to accept new arrivals, most of them from the nearby wildlife-rescue centre, Tiggywinkles, and on the occasional public opening days, invites local schoolchildren to feed the animals under the watchful eye of the estate manager, Roy. The genesis of Fawley Hill may sound unconventional, but in fact it echoes that of Britain’s best-known zoos and safari parks, many of which owe their existence to the whims of wealthy landowners. The practice of collecting animals for display goes back as far as the 12th century, when Henry I had a seven-mile wall built around the Royal Park of Woodstock in Oxfordshire to house lions, tigers, leopards, lynxes, camels and porcupines. They were subsequently moved to the Tower of London and supplemented by various other exotic species: among them, a polar bear given to Henry III in 1252 as a diplomatic gift from King Haakon of Norway and, three years later, an African bear sent by the King of France. The Tower continued to house this ever-changing menagerie until 1835, by which time the animals had been dispatched to other enclosures, including the newly founded London Zoo in Regent’s Park.
For monarchs from the mediaeval period onwards, owning a set of trophy creatures brought over from far-flung realms was a visible demonstration of wealth and majesty, indicative of the status of the ruler – who became, quite literally, the ‘king of beasts’ – and the scope of his imperial power. Some aristocratic collectors, however, were driven less by peacocking urges than by academic curiosity, such as Walter Rothschild, who turned his extensive Hertfordshire plot into a centre for scientific study. Born in 1868, Walter eschewed any interest in his family’s successful banking business in favour of pursuing his passion for the natural world. By the age of 10, he had accumulated enough different specimens of insect to start a ‘museum’ in his parents’ garden shed. He was later to welcome kangaroos, ostriches and emus to the parkland at his family home in Tring, and on one memorable occasion, he went to meet Princess Alexandra at Buckingham Palace in a carriage pulled by zebras. Many of his acquisitions – which included more than 10 million insects, 144 giant tortoises, 200,000
birds’ eggs and 300,000 bird skins – are still housed in the Natural History Museum today.
While Walter’s hobby nearly bankrupted the British branch of the Rothschilds, other owners of great estates have spotted the lucrative potential of introducing animals onto their land. One such was the pioneering Henry Thynne, 6th Marquess of Bath, who succeeded to Longleat – the majestic Elizabethan country house in Wiltshire – in 1946 to find himself faced with debilitating death duties and countless unmanageable repairs. Three years later, he became the first member of the British aristocracy to open the property to the public as a commercial enterprise, and in 1966 he brought in the now-legendary ‘Lions of Longleat’ to be the star attraction at his new drive-through safari park. On the opening day, visitors queued for miles at the entrance, paying £1 a vehicle for the privilege of exploring the 100-acre reserve with its pride of 50 lions. (The public’s fascination with big cats has by no means abated, if the extraordinary viewing figures for Netflix’s hit documentary series Tiger King, about the life of a gun-toting zookeeper in an Oklahoma safari park, are anything to go by…)
Success breeds success, and others soon flocked to follow the Marquess’ example. When John Robert Russell, 13th Duke of Bedford, inherited Woburn Abbey in 1953, along with £4,500,000 worth of debt, he initially retreated from the daunting task of restoring it, being an urbane character with rather more interest in art and literature than in a crumbling estate suited to country pursuits. Yet he surprised everyone by rising to the challenge with aplomb, opening the house to visitors in 1955 and willingly carrying out a slew of publicity stunts that earned him the nickname ‘the Maverick Duke’. If some of his television appearances were perhaps ill-judged, his decision to build a safari park in the grounds of the Abbey – inspired by the steady stream of visitors he had seen at Longleat – was certainly not. Opened in 1970, the park helped safeguard the future of what is now Woburn Enterprises, a flourishing business with a turnover of £2 million a year.
The present incumbent of Woburn, Andrew Russell, 15th Duke of Bedford, speaks proudly of his grandfather’s entrepreneurial spirit. ‘I remember him telling me how it all started,’ he says. ‘He talked to Lord Bath and said, “Look, I’ve heard all about the safari at Longleat, and would you mind if I set one up too?” Lord Bath said it was fine – after all, Bedfordshire was miles away – and so he went ahead. And he was very happy he did.’ The Duke has fond memories of growing up at Woburn Abbey, where he has lived since the age of 12. ‘It’s always been a part of my life – the excitement of going over to see the new arrivals, especially the baby animals,’ he reflects. ‘I particularly recall one occasion when the elephants arrived: being up in the middle of the night and seeing them lifted off a lorry and walking into their new houses at five o’clock in the morning – it’s incredible how trusting animals are.’ His own children seem to have inherited his love of the park (‘For a while they were hooked on the kunekune pigs’) and his godchildren come each summer to do work experience with the zookeepers.
But life on safari isn’t all fun and games: being responsible for the welfare of more than 80 different species, including endangered ones such as the southern white rhino, the
A FEW WALLABIES MANAGED TO SNEAK UNDER THE FENCES AND CAMPED OUT OPPOSITE THE PUB IN HENLEY