by Simon Cowell
Personally, I found the whole experience was cathartic. I had watched plenty of documentaries about African wildlife on television but had no idea just how beautiful and moving it would be in real life. The screen doesn’t truly encapsulate what it is actually like: the sights, the colours, the sounds and the smells. I spent a lot of time in awe of it all. One day we sat by a watering hole, which had shrunk as it was the end of the dry season. There was a giraffe over on one side, a lion lying in cover on another side and a croc basking in the middle. All the animals had eaten and drunk and appeared to be enjoying the sun. It all fitted together. Everything had its space. It was amazing to watch nature in balance. Obviously, when the sun went down they all tried to kill each other but for that special moment they were all there in harmony.
The filming went well. We interviewed gamekeepers, conservationists and the local people who knew the animals best. We filmed a family of elephants in the Luangwa National Park. Every day they made a journey across a river to the other side of the park to forage and then, as the sun started to set, they went back to their original location. Many years ago, before the whole area became protected, the abundant food was in an unprotected part of the park. The elephants learned that poachers operated there at night so they would eat there in the day but go back to the safer area as it got dark. The behaviour was conditioned from hundreds of years ago.
On one occasion a bull elephant from the herd took an interest in our open jeep and wandered up to get a closer look. It was huge and cast a long shadow over us as it walked towards us. Although it didn’t charge, it certainly had the intention of checking us out. I couldn’t tell if it was aggressive or not so I took my cue from the reaction of the rifle-carrying guides who were with us. The fear on their faces indicated there was something wrong. In such situations I worked on the premise that the experts knew what they were doing and when they got twitchy, I got twitchy. Then one of the men started to go through his pockets to get bullets out to fire a warning shot, which did little to reassure me, especially when the chap dropped them on the floor. Scarily, the elephant got close enough to touch before it realized we were no threat and wandered off.
On another occasion we were in a vehicle in the middle of the savannah when an elephant saw us and suddenly started to flap its ears in an aggressive manner. It was a long way away but it was obvious that he’d noticed us. We did the same as we would do on any rescue where the animal was aggressive, and slowly reversed away.
The footage we got from Zambia and the excursion to South Africa was superb and added a new dimension to the format of the series. What most people didn’t realize was that there should have been a crew of about twenty people doing what our small team of three or four managed to do. We did everything between us, we did it well, we all cared about it and we all mucked in.
In a way, Zambia changed my life. Seeing animals as they should be seen – in the wild at a distance – reinforced my views on a range of wildlife issues. Just having the time to appreciate nature is so important. We don’t allow ourselves that luxury nowadays and inevitably we lose sight of the value of the natural world. It’s rare for people to sit in the garden for half an hour and experience the wildlife around them. Everyone is too busy to appreciate the world so we don’t notice it when it is in trouble. We’ll wake from this stupor one day and realize it has all gone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lion King
I NEVER MAKE MUCH fuss about my own birthdays and special occasions because I am always on call and focused on the work at the centre. The truth is that I never really relax but I never feel the need to because I am at my happiest when I am working. Even Christmas Days have been interrupted over the years as I was called out to rescues. We have volunteers in but when they go home the phone diverts to my mobile. It is the same on birthdays. I have usually worked. Which is why one year, when we received an unusual call on my birthday, I went off to investigate without a second thought.
Jim took the call and came in to the office with the details.
‘There’s a woman in Cobham who says she bought some exotic fruit from a greengrocer and when she got it home a huge spider crawled out of it and is now hiding under her furniture. She says it looked like some kind of tarantula. It should be a good one for the TV. I’ll get the equipment.’
Phil was with us and we loaded up the car and sped off to a small unit of maisonettes above some shops. Initially, I knocked at the wrong door and shocked the old man who answered. When the mistake had been rectified we eventually reached the correct address and the door was answered by a very attractive woman, who appeared quite flustered and explained to me what had happened.
‘This thing jumped out of the bag of kumquats and ran under the sofa. I was screaming. It was as big as a hand,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry, madam,’ I reassured her. ‘We’ll find it.’
She ushered us inside to the lounge and pointed to where she thought the spider was hiding. While Jim and Phil were filming I got on my hands and knees with a torch and started looking around under the sofa very slowly so as not to scare the thing. I was completely focused on my work.
‘I can’t see anything,’ I said after about ten minutes. ‘Perhaps it has found a way into the frame.’
I huffed as I stood and was about to explain to her that we could either dismantle her furniture or wait until it reappeared when I realized she was completely naked and I had been well and truly set up. She raised her hand dramatically and exclaimed: ‘Stop! I am your spider.’
Then she leaned over to a CD player on a table and pressed play. The opening bars of ‘The Stripper’ issued from the speakers. Ta-dah, dah, dah! The woman sauntered over to me, pushed me down onto the sofa and performed a well-practised dance routine, the finale of which involved a lollipop which she produced from somewhere lollipops aren’t meant to go. When the music finished Jim and Phil sang ‘Happy Birthday’.
Life often went from the sublime to the ridiculous, or back the other way. The fake spider was dramatic in its own bizarre way but we were experiencing plenty of real-life drama that was making the series extremely popular. At its peak it had around 5 million viewers. I received a commendation from the RSPCA for one rescue, mainly because they were too bound up by health and safety rules to attempt it themselves. They called me in after a duck got stranded in the middle of a frozen lake in Reigate, Surrey. The duck had become wrapped in a fishing line and couldn’t swim away. It was struggling in the cold water. It had been a particularly cold winter in the south-east with record-breaking sub-zero temperatures, and most lakes and ponds were covered in thick ice. We were called out to several weather related emergencies that year and no matter how much I padded myself out with thick coats and gloves, I still felt the cold. At home I set the heating to 26°C as a rule and even in the height of the summer it is not unusual to find me in my office with a portable radiator switched on by my desk. As you can imagine, that winter was not my favourite time of year. The thing that kept me motivated on that particular rescue – apart from the overriding urge to save the animal – was the knowledge that the café in the park where the lake was situated supplied a rather good bacon-and-egg sandwich.
The call came in and I grabbed one of the volunteers who was on duty at the centre and we loaded the Volvo with the equipment I thought we might need: ladders, the boat, a grabber, rope. When we arrived we drove into the park and got as near to the lake as we could, where we were met by two slightly apologetic RSPCA officers who explained that the duck had been spotted by a member of the public and had been stranded for at least three hours. The temperature was dropping and the lake had frozen around the bird. If no one saved it, it risked being entombed in an icy grave. It was at least 100 metres from the bank and it would have been far too risky to try and walk out to it so we unloaded the rigid fibreglass boat from the roof rack, attached a rope to the boat from a tree and, using a pickaxe, broke an area in the ice big enough to drop the boat into. We then both cl
ambered aboard. Neither of us wore lifejackets but I figured if the boat capsized hypothermia would get us before we drowned. We inched forward into the middle of the water, using the axe to break a path for the boat. It took ages to break through every bit of thick ice to get to the duck. It was obvious the bird was in a bad way; it was cold and exhausted and occasionally flapped weakly as we approached. I tried to take it as carefully as I could because I didn’t want to panic it any more than it already was but I was also very aware that time was of the essence. I was completely focused on the duck and didn’t think about my own safety, even though I couldn’t feel my hands. To his credit the volunteer didn’t think about his safety either and we managed to get near enough to the duck for me to lean precariously over the side and carefully untangle it. I lifted it into the boat where I wrapped it in a towel and then we used the rope to pull ourselves back to shore. We took the duck back to the centre where it warmed up and was released a few days later.
Several months later I received notice from the RSPCA that I had been awarded a Certificate of Commendation for the rescue. I didn’t chase awards and I did what I did for the animals not the glory, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t nice to know that others appreciated my work – not that I saw it as work. Rescuing had never been a job: it was my calling and I lived and breathed Wildlife Aid – it was me, it was my heart and soul, it was the first thing I thought about in the morning and the last thing I thought about at night. I started work sometimes at 4.30 in the morning and loved getting up early because I could get more done when no one was around. I finished at around nine in the evening and was on call most nights. The centre and Randalls Farm was my kingdom and my castle. I hated being away from it for any length of time, and was blindly devoted to it, which made my personal life complicated. I suspect that some of my girlfriends liked the idea of dating someone who led the kind of life I did. Initially, it probably seemed romantic and exciting. And I was always honest with them.
‘I do it 24/7. It comes first,’ I explained to each one.
And perhaps they thought, Great, that’s really sweet, but I’ll be able to change him. Then eventually they would realize that they couldn’t change me, and that I really did work 24/7. They got fed up because we would never go out and never go away anywhere. After Jill, I had several long-term relationships but they had to be on my terms, which were far too difficult for most people. My devotion to the charity was hard to accept and it was very unfair on my girlfriends. However, I enjoyed the chase and in 2007 I set my sights on a tall, blonde, attractive woman, several years younger than me.
I love tapas and there was a restaurant near the centre that the crew and I would often frequent after a long day. I noticed a new member of staff there one day and was immediately drawn to her. She was stunning, friendly and, thankfully, wasn’t offended by my jokey chat-up lines. Her name was Stanislava, Stani for short. She was Slovakian and over the following months I made it my mission to win her over. Initially, she probably thought I was a pest but I persevered. I’m a big believer in the philosophy that if you try hard enough you can achieve anything in life so the tapas became a weekly treat. I must have spent thousands in the restaurant because it took a year before she agreed to go on a date with me, and even then she called just beforehand to ask, ‘It is only as friends, isn’t it?’
We got on well and one date turned into another until she eventually came to live with me. Like most things in my life, it just sort of happened. She came for a couple of nights and over time stayed longer. The first time she came back to Randalls was for a drink after work and she brought in a pizza. At the time I had a flat-coated retriever called Bear, who grabbed her by the arm with his mouth and walked her in. Stani was terrified – she didn’t know if he was going to kill her or take her arm off. He was very gentle, though, and had simply smelled the pizza. She gave him some and he loved her for evermore. She became involved in the centre and in my life gradually. For quite a few years she didn’t have much to do with the animals but over the years she became really good with our badgers and she can now get some badger cubs to feed that no one else can. She will feed them every two hours through the night, which takes both patience and commitment. We all have our own fields of expertise. Mine is managing to look incredibly busy and knowledgeable whereas actually I do nothing and know nothing!
Stani takes no crap and tells it straight, which works well for me because I need someone fiery. I can be quite domineering and I like getting my own way so I need a strong woman to stand up to me, and sadly a lot of the people I’ve known haven’t. Stani tells me in no uncertain terms what to do if I try and take the piss.
The Zambia special went down a treat with the broadcaster and also gave me the impetus to consider other locations. It took a lot to drag me away from the centre and from my work but we all realized that the international dimension gave the show a fresh new direction. The format for the international trips needed to mirror the content of the domestic shows. We needed to feature people who did in other countries what I did in the UK; we needed to shadow them, feature their dramatic rescues and releases, and also raise awareness of the conservation and environmental problems they were facing in their own countries. We began by drawing up a list of locations. They needed to be exotic enough to make good television.
‘How about the Arctic?’ Jason suggested.
‘Too cold,’ I answered.
‘India?’
‘Too much dysentery,’ I mused.
For the following six years the crew repeatedly tried to get me to go to India but I always put a veto on it. It was just too hot, busy, dirty and manic for me. Jim and I would always disagree about where we were going because I didn’t want to go on some of the trips at all. I threw my toys out the pram and got stroppy. He ignored me and arranged them anyway. He has a brilliant eye for what makes good television and gently pushed me past my comfort zone to make the series better.
‘It should be in the southern hemisphere,’ I suggested, ‘and we’ll go when its winter here.’ We all liked the idea of getting a week in the sun when the weather was grotty at home but it also made sense. Although winter provided dramatic and atmospheric rescue footage for the show, it was also our quiet period so the trips would give us a better range of content. We planned a timetable; each winter we would try and squeeze in one or two international trips, which we could then edit into several specials that would be broadcast throughout a series run.
‘And I have to travel business class,’ I explained. I had suffered from a bad back for many years and there was a danger that a long-haul flight in cattle class would leave me laid up and unable to film. The others raised their eyebrows but I convinced them that business-class flights for me were an insurance policy worth paying. The whole trip would be a waste of time and money if I were unable to film through injury or illness – well, that was my story anyway!
The first trip after Zambia saw the team and me back on familiar territory on the African continent at the rescue centre in South Africa we had visited briefly during the Zambia trip. The Centre for Rehabilitation of Wildlife (CROW) was run by Dr Helena Fitchat, who is half-Czech and married to a South African farmer. She is a real character who has devoted her life to rescuing wildlife. The centre is a parallel version of Wildlife Aid; we have badgers and hedgehogs, while they have baboons and warthogs. On our first trip there we filmed a couple of lion cubs Helena was rearing. They had been confiscated from a notorious poacher who had taken them from the wild in order to sell them into the cruel ‘canned hunting’ industry – the shameful business in which captive wild animals are raised and then released into a controlled environment where trophy hunters pay to shoot them. At the time, there were thought to be around 5,000 lions in captive breeding programmes supplying this completely legal but deeply immoral business. The animals do not get a chance: they are released into penned-off areas, sometimes sedated and then lured out into open where they make easy targets for cowardly hunters who shoot the
m from the safety of vehicles. Often the hunters are poor shots and the animals die slow and agonizing deaths. I found this whole practice abhorrent. Helena called us out of blue and explained that the lion cubs we had filmed on the first visit were being transferred to a conservation programme that aimed to train them to survive in the wild. She wanted us to film the story and even paid for the flights, so we could hardly refuse.
After a long journey we drove to her centre where she showed us the lions which, in the interim, had grown into stunning adolescents. The male wasn’t fully grown but was already incredibly powerful and muscular. The previous year I had gone in the pen with it. Now it was far too large to risk getting close to. The fate of the lions had remained in doubt after our first visit because Helena shared the same ethos as me: that it was kinder to euthanize a wild animal that couldn’t go back in the wild, rather than keep it in the hell of captivity. Many conservationists in South Africa believed that it was impossible to rehabilitate captive-bred lions or frankly didn’t want to take the risk on such big, dangerous animals. However, Helena had found an enormous private game sanctuary that was willing to take the lions and give them the specialist training they needed to be wild again.
I wanted to use the opportunity to highlight the canned hunting industry and so before we left we got in touch with a ‘lion farmer’ who bred lions to supply the hunting market and arranged to interview him. It was a tough call for me. His line of work was sickening but was legal in his country. In order to expose the cruelty of the practice I needed to gain his trust. I wanted him to be open and honest with me so I couldn’t blunder in and be critical or judgemental. We drove six hours to his ‘farm’ where he bred a large number of big cats and also rare white lions.