by Simon Cowell
I slowly trained him and he was always on a lead when we were out and there were other dogs around. Gradually he came to realize that he was safe and the aggression – which was a defence mechanism – was replaced by a slight lunacy, which was endearing. You can’t change the damage that has been done to an abused dog overnight. Sometimes it can take years and it is not the dog’s fault. If there is a problem with a dog, you can bet it’s people that have done something to it. Sam worked through his issues with humans and became a real character. We had a fireworks display at the farm for Lou’s twenty-first birthday and he got it into his head that he was going to try and bite a Roman candle that had been lit. The crazy dog grabbed it out of the ground and started running around the garden with it in his mouth. I was screaming blue murder at him.
‘Sam, put the fucking firework down!’
The guests were jumping out the way and Sam was trying to eat the firework as it was exploding. How he didn’t injure himself I will never know.
My relationship with my dogs has always been very different to the relationship I have with wild animals. I respect them, too, but for different reasons and in different ways. All animals have characters, even small ones. A while ago we had blue tits nesting in a box and we rigged cameras up to it to watch them. One day I sat in my office and I watched this pair of birds going backwards and forwards with food for their young. Their determination was heroic. They must have gone backwards and forwards a thousand times because the chicks inside were about to fledge. Their work-rate and devotion were absolutely phenomenal. They were only small birds but they showed a huge amount of character. And then one afternoon I saw that the chicks were gone, which was strange so I reviewed the tape to see what happened and it showed that a woodpecker had drilled into the box, pulled them all out and killed them all. That was hard-core – nature at its harshest – but I can guarantee those adults would have nested again somewhere else and started the whole process over. The whole centre mourned the loss of those fledglings because they had captured everyone’s imagination. The raw cruelty of nature often caught us unaware. I have done several rescues with members of the team that have not turned out well for the animal and on the way back we haven’t talked at all because we are so emotionally drained. The job is a roller-coaster of massive highs and lows and, while I hate the lows, the highs make the sad outcomes worth it.
I came to terms with the death of my dad and life went on. Mum stayed in the coach house and Jill, Lou and Gemma helped look after her. Aside from Dad the biggest death that affected me was my cousin, David, who was only in his early fifties when he died. He had been like a brother to me and I had spent many happy days with him on the farm in Essex when I was young. When his wife called one day out of the blue to tell me he had passed away suddenly I was shaken to the core.
A year after Dad died life changed again. I had been living in rented houses with a succession of girlfriends while I continued to work at Randalls Farm every day, driving Wildlife Aid forward, expanding it and making it bigger. Jill and I worked together. Then, in 1999, Jill decided she wanted to move back to Gloucestershire to be near her parents. Perhaps my dad’s death had made her re-evaluate her relationship with her own family. Before she moved out we decided to finalize things and got divorced. She treated me well in the settlement considering it had been my fault and I will always feel guilty to a degree for the way I treated her. She remarried several years later and was very happy, which eased some of my guilt.
When Jill moved out, I moved back into the farmhouse, which I had always seen as my spiritual home. It made perfect sense because the girls, who were in their mid-teens, were still living there. It was a seamless homecoming. I had very little to bring back. Jill moved out one day and the next I came in with a couple of suitcase and a bit of furniture. The disruption for the girls was minimal. They both helped out around the centre and were beginning to develop their mother’s love of the arts. Jill and I never pushed them into anything and left them to make up their minds about what they wanted to do but, funnily enough, they both ended up doing things I would have liked to have done. Gemma went on to be a brilliant actress. From school she went to college and studied drama. She toured with theatre productions and had roles in various plays. Sadly, it’s an industry in which talent only gets you so far and luck has a big part to play. She trained as a fitness instructor as well, and developed a successful business as a personal trainer. Lou developed a career as a singer and songwriter and got a deal with a record label.
SOS continued to raise awareness of the work we were doing. In some ways it helped to boost fundraising but the daily effort to keep the centre afloat financially continued to be a struggle. In the charity sector there is a hierarchy of causes; animals are in the bottom 5 per cent and within that wildlife is lower than pet charities and domestic wildlife is at the bottom. People love wildlife but I found that did not translate to donations. They took the wildlife around them for granted and would rather give to causes related to sexier animals such as elephants or tigers. I got letters critical of the show, accusing me of spending the charity’s funds on television production. I replied to each one to explain that it was the broadcaster that paid for the costs incurred.
A low point came when we were investigated by the Charity Commission, which had received a false accusation of financial irregularities at the charity. The investigation cost Wildlife Aid £12,000 in accountants and lawyers’ fees just to prove the claims were unsubstantiated. Then we were investigated a second time, again after further claims, and again we were exonerated. It was a nightmare. They sent in a forensic accountant but thankfully I had always made sure our accounts were carefully kept and in good order.
When I left London I thought running a charity would be cushy compared to the corporate world. There is a great deal of bitching between charities as they try to compete for a diminishing pool of money. Several years ago I talked to other wildlife groups about creating a cooperative of charities to boost our influence and resources. The system would have allowed us all to save costs by sharing the expense of vital functions like fundraising and public relations. The plan fell on deaf ears, however, because everybody was so scared that there would be a bloodbath when a £5,000 donation came in, with the charities fighting to get a chunk of the money. There is some honour among wildlife charities, however. We share information and help each other out with patients and advice. And we are all more networked today because of social media.
I guess we are lucky to be based in an affluent part of the country. Sometimes people offer money when we save something from their garden but what saddens me is that, usually, the wealthier the people, the less they are likely to give. Someone came in a beaten up Austin Maxi, brought in a pigeon and gave us a fiver. A few days later someone else turned up in a Ferrari Testarossa with an injured hedgehog and gave nothing. However, I couldn’t be too critical because at least he cared enough to bring it in.
We try our best to make people aware that when they bring in an animal it costs money to look after it. There are posters up in reception and our receptionists are very good at giving the message without being too obvious. If I am in reception, I sometimes try and use humour.
‘Unless you become a Wildlife Aid member I am going to kill this animal,’ I have been known to say. Or: ‘Unless you donate a fiver we will not give this animal its medication.’ My staff apologize for me. I do it jokingly but hopefully the member of the public understands that underneath there is a serious reason. Sometimes, though, they walk out with a confused and shocked look on their faces!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
International
Rescue
I WAS NEVER AN avid television viewer, even when I was on the television. If I did ever sit down and watch something, it would usually be a chick flick. There was something about romcoms that helped me relax and switch off. However, in 2001, a television show started that caught my attention, mainly because of its chief protagonist and co-creato
r.
Pop Idol came out on ITV and as a family we were interested because at the time Lou was taking her first steps towards a career in music. As a singer-songwriter the show went against all her beliefs, offering singers the chance of instant stardom without putting in the hard graft or learning the trade. My interest was mainly in the head judge, Simon Cowell, a fellow animal lover, who became the most famous man in the UK thanks to his brutally honest style of critique. He was a divisive figure. Like me, he was a version of Marmite; you either loved him or you hated him because he said exactly what he thought and he didn’t beat around the bush. He was the nation’s pantomime baddie. If you were obese and you couldn’t sing he’d tell you and often he didn’t bother with diplomacy. I liked the guy. And of course we shared a name, which in some roundabout way did not do me any harm. It was easier to get tables at restaurants and I could legitimately call myself ‘Simon Cowell, the man from the television programme’. Being older than him I could also lay claim to the name as I had it first, although over the years, as his profile went stratospheric, I inevitably became known as ‘the other Simon Cowell’. Apparently, he lived off Diet Coke and Marlboro Lights, like me, but I just wish I had his bank balance.
While I personally didn’t have the other Simon Cowell’s financial clout, Wildlife Aid did manage the monumental task of raising enough finances and resources to replace the ageing hospital unit, which was based in the front part of the house, with a new, purpose-built, state-of-the-art veterinary hospital outside in the grounds. It was opened in 2002 and was one of the best equipped hospitals for wildlife in the country. We had full digital X-ray facilities that were better than those of most vets. We had ultrasound and pathology equipment that allowed us to do blood tests. We had everything that commercial vets had and in some cases more. Much of the equipment was donated. Our X-ray machine cost £12,000 and was donated by Animal Friends, the insurance company. We also had two oxygenators, which were paid for by Exxon Mobil.
Some people would baulk at the idea of taking money from a company that operates in the oil sector, but in my opinion it is a question of degrees. If I was offered a million pounds by a vivisection company I wouldn’t take it, even if that offer was made without the requirement for publicity or endorsement. My red line is animal abuse. However, when it comes to other sectors you have to be pragmatic and look at offers on a case by case basis. If companies have money in ring-fenced charity funds, that money is going somewhere, so why not to us?
The whole subject of donations is a minefield. Should an animal welfare charity take donations from a pharmaceutical company that tests on animals? Some would say definitely not but where do those principles take you? Do you use their drugs on the animals you are trying to save? Do you refuse to buy their drugs even if they are the cheapest and most effective? Should companies test cosmetics on animals? Of course they shouldn’t. Should they test medicines on animals? If my child was dying and the one drug that was going to save her had been tested on animals, of course I’m going to want her to take it. It is a judgement call at the end of the day and, whatever your decisions, you will inevitably upset someone but you can’t let your own high principles become a straitjacket to your higher purpose. Running a charity is a long game and you have to give yourself all the advantages you can. To survive, charities have to engage with the corporate world and that inevitably creates grey areas.
The new hospital meant we needed to increase our veterinary cover. We used a pool of volunteer vets to staff the hospital and called in specialists when we needed certain surgical procedures. We also needed a permanent vet nurse qualified to carry out minor procedures, give injections and administrate and coordinate all the vet functions. Having a vet nurse would also help me on rescues. They could carry out first aid in situ, lessening the need to bring an animal back to the centre. The result would be more rescue releases, which was our ultimate goal.
Our first vet nurse was Sara Cowan. When she came in for an interview I explained to her that we were also filming a TV series and that, if she agreed, she would feature in it. She was slightly nervous about the prospect but agreed. She was very good at her job and was good company. She worked for us for seven years and came on countless rescues with me. We worked closely together and inevitably shared a lot of emotional scenes because of the nature of the work. It is far more difficult being a vet nurse with Wildlife Aid than anywhere else because they not only have to deal with a lot of patients, they also have to deal with animals that they have not seen before. There are no owners to explain medical histories. The vet nurses also have to deal with 320 volunteers who are all slightly nuts!
It is sometimes lonely work running the charity and treading the fine line between trying to keep things afloat, trying to keep the volunteers happy and staying true to my beliefs. Often, there is little thanks and much fire-fighting. In 2005, however, I was recognized for my work and was awarded an MBE for services to wildlife, which was an honour. One of the newspapers reported that the award was for ‘servicing wildlife’. I rang them up and demanded a correction, in case anyone thought I was a pervert.
I felt the award was as much for the volunteers who have made Wildlife Aid what it is as it was for me and so, rather than go to Buckingham Palace to receive it, I arranged for it to be awarded in a ceremony at the centre where everyone could be part of the occasion. I was delighted to be made an MBE and still hanker for the opportunity to get a platform where I can champion the environment. A lordship would be superb but perhaps I’d be better suited to a damehood – so I could throw gladioli at everyone!
By 2006 the production team felt that the series needed to step up a notch. The rescues were often dramatic but the animals and situations started to become familiar – after eighteen pigeons in a row we needed something fresh! We started to talk about making a foreign special. In truth, the motivation was nothing more than an effort to spice up the show and allow me the luxury of fulfilling a lifetime ambition of going on safari. I had always wanted to see animals such as lions and elephants in the wild and had never travelled very extensively. I’d been on holidays over the years but never anywhere particularly exotic.
Initially, Jim was sceptical. There were a lot of logistics involved in getting a camera crew and all our equipment abroad and we needed to cost things carefully. There was also no guarantee that we would get the right footage as we only had a set amount of time in which to film. In the UK, we could easily take our gear out and film everything every day; abroad, we had at best a week to get enough footage to make at least one episode. It took more arranging and that inevitably fell to Jim who, without the benefit of any local knowledge, had to do watertight research to make sure the whole thing worked.
I used my powers of persuasion.
‘Come on, Jim, we can have a holiday while we are there and if things go wrong we’ll wing it.’
Jim researched the best location, Zambia, and the best operator, Norman Carr Safaris. The company’s history and ethos fitted well with that of Wildlife Aid. Norman Carr established the first safari camp in the Luangwa Valley in 1950, back in the days when an African safari was a hunting experience. He developed the pioneering idea of taking people to look at animals and photograph them, rather than to shoot them. His first safari camp was set up in partnership with the local tribespeople and he involved them in the management of the wildlife, an idea that was way ahead of its time, encouraging the traditional owners of the natural resource to take responsibility for its usage. His pioneering approach proved to be the forerunner to a cornerstone of modern-day conservation policy.
We arranged to stay at Kapani Lodge, which was the company’s headquarters and Norman’s last home. It was located on the banks of one of the Luangwa River’s many ox-bow lagoons close to the main Mfuwe area of the South Luangwa, one of the finest national parks in Zambia. We planned out a shooting schedule and set out not only to show animals in the wild but also to highlight some of the perils they faced in the form of poaching
and trapping. We had five days to film and while we were there also took a trip into South Africa where we filmed at another wildlife rescue centre.
We didn’t use local fixers like other television crews because we were producing the show ourselves. People in the animal conservation and rescue world tended to respect us because of what we did in the UK. I made sure that everyone who ever worked on Wildlife SOS shared my beliefs and the principle that the animal always comes first. All the team – Jim, Phil and Jason – would drop the equipment and help out if they were needed and didn’t think twice about getting involved in the hands-on stuff if needed. In the worldwide community of wildlife rescuers we were fellow nutcases. We were kindred spirits. We all loved what we did, we were all passionate and we all had that dark sense of humour.
We managed to juggle budgets and flew out for our first experience of international rescue, staying at a game lodge by the water’s edge in an idyllic part of Africa, close to nature. We were incredibly lucky when we got there because we were the only visitors. It was off-season and the company gave us our own driver and guides. We had a great time and saw some amazing stuff. Due to the limited timeframe we made sure we packed in as much as we could. Every day was like three days because we went out on safari in the morning, in the afternoon and again at night.
There was all manner of wildlife wandering around. On one occasion Jim went off to his bungalow in the dark after dinner and a few drinks. He had a torch to light his way. He came back white as a sheet a few minutes later. He’d encountered a hippo on the way, which was just standing there, blocking the path and looking at him. Hippos are attracted to light and can also be very aggressive so Jim switched off the torch and legged it back to the bar where he had a few more drinks and waited for the interloper to go on its way.