Gerald Durrell

by Douglas Botting

  I cannot contemplate an existence or an experience which does not include you and that will not be enhanced by your presence. I love you, McGeorge, and if you feel about me even remotely as I feel about you then I am the luckiest man on this planet.

  As always and forever, G

  By now Alexandra had begun to get the measure of her travelling companion. He had a habit of sniffing down his nose when he talked, she noticed, and of snoring extraordinarily loudly when he slept. He was quite jolly in the main, even though he was so churned up about Lee, but he could become angry when he got on to the subject of conservation. ‘He could get very vitriolic about it,’ she recalled. ‘In his career he must have seen phenomenal destruction. Sometimes I think he would have cheerfully wiped out half the human race to get the numbers down. He has a passion for every living thing, especially the lowly, including man on an individual basis, but not man en masse, because their record was too damning. He didn’t bat an eyelid about eating animal meat and he was fairly sanguine about the natural system where everything eats everything else. It was just the mass destruction he couldn’t stand. He talked about all sorts of things. He talked like his books, in flowery language, with lots of similes and metaphors. He was very graphic in his speech and he could be terribly funny. He said he would have liked to have had children but it was never to be. He missed having a dog, too, but it was impossible, given the way he lived, travelling all the time.’

  Gerald was not at all fit, she noticed, but he had tremendous energy, and he looked very sweet sometimes, perched on top of a loudly farting elephant or trying to photograph a butterfly on a sandbank with his big round khaki-clad bottom pointing to the heavens. Not that he was exactly travelling rough. All the VIP perks and privileges in the gift of a wealthy tea company in a country where tea was gold were laid on for him, and he was fêted everywhere as a famous and important person. The camp on the Subansiri river was no backpackers’ bivouac but a luxurious tented pavilion fit for a prince, with servants in attendance and a tented loo containing (Alexandra noted in her diary) a formidably gigantic spider commensurate with the de luxe facilities.

  ‘Gerry was a bon viveur,’ Alexandra recalled, ‘even out in the sticks. He was totally larger than life and did everything to excess. He had formed a passion for Indian beer. This came in 2-litre bottles, and when we set off up the Subansiri river he took three crates of it in our rubber inflatable, making 72 litres all told, plus a few bottles of brandy. This didn’t appear to affect him adversely at all but it affected the boat. There they were, these crates, sitting on the plywood base of the boat and weighing a ton, with Gerry, who was no lightweight, sitting in the lotus position on top of them, high as a kite by now, and we got into a set of rapids. It was really very frightening. The poor little chap who was trying to steer the boat and bale it out with an empty baked bean can at the same time began to get quite frantic. Then I noticed that the base of the boat was tearing away from the inflatable sides and it looked as if the whole contraption would disintegrate before very long. “Gerry!” I shouted across to him. “I think we should jettison the beer! Chuck it out!” But he refused point blank. “Chuck it out?” he said. “I absolutely will not!” God knows how we made it back to base. We nearly didn’t.’

  Though Gerald was treated everywhere as a celebrity, this did not stop eyebrows being raised, since he was travelling in the company of a beautiful woman less than half his age whose presence was never fully explained. ‘A lot of people thought there was something going on,’ Alexandra recalled, ‘which was ironic considering Gerry’s mind was full of nothing but Lee.’

  Throughout his travels in Assam, Gerald was eaten up with frustration, doubt, angst, fear on account of Lee. By now the travellers were receding further and further from the civilised world. On 18 March they made a lightning leap into the restricted mountain kingdom of Bhutan, as Alexandra recorded excitedly in her diary. ‘Out in jeep to jungle. Didn’t see anything. Then into Bhutan! Fantastic, really weird atmosphere. Most uncanny. And totally illegal!’ ‘Don’t let on,’ Alexandra wrote to her mother of the love match she occasionally glimpsed through the wrong end of a telescope, ‘but it’s a business deal. She’s not a gold digger, doesn’t pretend to love him, in fact loves a man in the States, but he wants someone to look after the zoo and the Trust when he goes and he’s willing to do anything for her.’

  On the day of the Bhutan adventure, Gerald wrote again to Lee:

  My dearest, delightful, delectable, delicious, dreamy darling … I miss you. In fact I miss you so much that I have got to the stage of not believing you exist. I am convinced that you are a figment of my imagination. You appeared in a dream. Nothing outside a dream could be so perfect …

  I have just got back from a quick and illegal trip over the border in Bhutan. Wonderful, just like Tibet, the people with lovely copper coloured skins and hair like ravens feathers. Have investigated the Pygmy Hog area both on foot and from the air and think their capture next year may be easier than I anticipated. I hope …

  Lovely, languid, loveable, lecherous Lee – magnificent, meritorious, marvellous McGeorge. How I wish you were in my arms. How I wish I could kiss you and gloat over your beautiful hands and feet and other excitement-making bits of your anatomy.

  Darling, I adore you and I can’t wait to start sharing your life. Please write and tell me where we are to be married and what I can bring your parents as a present when I come over.

  On 19 March Gerald and Alexandra had gone back into Bhutan, where they put up in the King of Bhutan’s bright green guest-house bungalow in the Manas Wildlife Sanctuary before venturing further up-country by elephant and riverboat. The wildlife was abundant here – golden langurs, buffalo, mongoose, hog deer, birds and butterflies of all kinds and breathtaking flights of greater Indian hornbills gliding across the river at dusk. So far they had seen nothing of the object of their expedition, no pygmy hogs in the wild anywhere – probably because they had arrived at the time of year when the hogs went up into the hills and were even more difficult to find than usual. By 23 March the pair were on their way to Shillong, the Assamese capital, where every minute of Gerald’s time was taken up with meetings, visits, talks, interviews and broadcasts.

  On 27 March they finally returned to Calcutta. It had been a fantastic trip, in Alexandra’s opinion, but the fate of the pygmy hog remained ‘unfinished business’, just like the volcano rabbit in Mexico. ‘Unfinished business’ it was to remain for some time, it transpired, for before long a revolt by Naga tribesmen would prevent all hope of going back in the foreseeable future, and nearly twenty years were to pass before a pygmy hog recovery programme, with the Jersey Trust as a key player, could finally be put into effect.

  There were no letters from Lee waiting for Gerald in Calcutta. After lunch they paid a visit to the zoo, then went shopping in the New Market. ‘GMD had my pearl and garnet clasp copied for Lee’s ring,’ Alexandra noted in her diary, ‘also earrings to match. Back to the flat. Dinner alone, then GMD’s call to Lee came through. He felt there was someone in her flat with her.’

  Next day, Gerald’s suspicions were confirmed when a letter Lee had written on 14 March was finally delivered to him. ‘Gerry v. upset,’ noted Alexandra.

  My dear Gerry,

  I am still living with Lincoln. The clean surgical cut required to break off the relationship was too painful for both of us at this time. We tried it for a few days, but whenever we saw each other – in the halls at school or in my office – we both started weeping. I know that I cannot live with him in the future (and he knows that I won’t), but I cannot live without him at the present. We both have a lot of work to do during the day, and he must do this season’s field work at night – but simply being together for a short while – over supper and in bed – quiets the raging emotions that each of us feels and gives us some comfort and peace …

  I know what you must be feeling now – to see that the girl you love and will marry is living with someone else.
God, how could I do it to you?! But you’re doing it for me.

  I can hardly wait ’til end May when you come over – the present phase of my life will be done and my new, marvellous life will begin.

  Soon afterwards, Gerald received another letter from Lee, written on 21 March.

  My dear Gerry,

  How I wish I were sitting with you on the veranda overlooking the Brahmaputra, or better still, swaying gently on elephant back pushing through the thatch. As it is, I’m sitting madly at monstrous computers, trying to push back the frontiers of knowledge.

  Gerald did not reply immediately. He had engagements in Calcutta to fulfil, talks to give to the British Council and local clubs and schools. But he was, Alexandra noted, ‘very upset and flustered about Lee’. Finally it all boiled over and he exploded in fluent telegraphese in a vitriolic cable despatched from Calcutta on 30 March.

  BOTH LETTERS RECEIVED STOP YOUR AUDACITY IN THINKING I WILL AGREE TO AND CONDONE YOUR PRESENT ACTIVITIES IS UNBELIEVABLE STOP HAVE NO INTENTION OF UNDERWRITING OR AGREEING TO PUERILE UNINTELLIGENT AND ADOLESCENT AFFAIR STOP IN VIEW OUR DISCUSSIONS AND DECISIONS ON JERSEY I CONSIDER YOU HAVE LIED AND BROKEN FAITH AND AM ASTONISHED THAT YOU THINK ME FOOLISH AND WEAK ENOUGH TO ACCEPT THIS WITHOUT PROTEST STOP APPARENTLY I CANNOT TRUST YOU NOW SO SEE NO POINT IN FURTHERING OUR RELATIONSHIP THEREFORE WILL NOT BOTHER CONTACT YOU AGAIN STOP NOTHING YOU CAN SAY WILL ALTER MY VIEWS ON YOUR STUPIDITY BUT WOULD REMIND YOU OF OLD MAXIM ABOUT NOT BEING ABLE TO HAVE YOUR CAKE AND EAT IT STOP SHOULD YOU WISH TO BEHAVE IN AN HONEST ADULT AND INTELLIGENT WAY ABOUT US YOU KNOW WHERE I AM BUT SUGGEST YOU MAKE YOUR MIND UP FAST AS I HAVE NO INTENTION OF WAITING AROUND WHILE YOU INDULGE IN SCHOOLGIRL HISTRIONICS STOP PITY YOU ARE SO SHORT SIGHTED AS TO DESTROY A MAGNIFICENT FUTURE FOR AN EPHEMERAL PRESENT BUT THAT IS YOUR DECISION AND MISTAKE.

  DURRELL

  In far-off North Carolina, Lee took the telegram square on the jaw, and lammed straight back in a forthright letter written on 31 March.

  Now, let me tell you in general what your telegram indicated to me. Your lack of sympathy means you do not understand me – you know nothing of my motives and fears, of my capacity for love, sorrow and happiness, nor do you want to know. It is now very clear to me that the woman you want to marry must in fact be subservient to you, a puppet to you, for the moment she takes any action that you perceive crosses you, she is out on her ear. You would not have the respect, decency and honor even to ask why she did what she did, because you are incapable of understanding and loving anyone beyond yourself. Life with you on Jersey and out in the world would be magnificent and glorious, full of laughter and whistling and planning and dreaming together, until I realised that I was being kept in a cage like a rare specimen. This is all right for other animals, because they are unable to cross their captors. But human beings can and will cross each other …

  Don’t worry, my dear, puppets and slaves are a dime a dozen and I’m sure you’ll find yours soon.

  I cried mostly about two things on the afternoon I got your telegram. The first on account of my shutting myself out of participating in the hopes and dreams of the Jersey Trust … How could a thing as illusory and short-lived as love (both mine for Lincoln and yours for me) – it usually lasts for less than a human generation – have prevented me from realising my raison d’être – which would be felt for many generations to come – in the best possible way? But there it is. The second reason I cried is about something you so cruelly pointed out in the telegram. You can’t trust me any more. You could not believe how that hurts me. I have failed. Why, God knows, but there it is.

  Back to rare specimens … I am rare, and I feel sorry for you that you’ve lost me. I don’t think you realise how much you’ve lost. But on the other hand you are rare, and I feel sorry for myself. The reason I signed my first two telegrams to India with ‘love’ was that I must have been coming to love you in a way I didn’t think possible back in Jersey – simply because I truly missed you. Lee.

  This letter expressed how she felt in the raw heat of the moment, but second thoughts prevailed and she decided finally not to post it, writing instead a more considered and conciliatory note, posted to Jersey on the day Gerald and Alexandra flew out of Calcutta.

  Dear Gerry,

  I am truly sorry that you perceived my actions as betrayal. Superficially and conventionally considered, my actions were a betrayal. I can only conclude that your response was due to my breaking convention, and that surprises me. You’re one of the most unconventional people I’ve ever known. I spoke to mother on the phone last night – she said she thought I was being very naive, that any man she ever knew who was worth his salt would have responded in much the same way as you did …

  So let me tell you how I see the situation. We met and you asked me to marry you, and, after much painful consideration over the uncertainty of my future with Lincoln, the man I love, and the certainty of the future with you, the man I adore, but do not love, I said yes. You knew the details of my deliberations at every step and you still pressed me to marry you. What I do not forgive myself for is having decided to marry you without talking first to Lincoln. I had lived with and loved him for a year, and although we hadn’t spoken the words of a marriage commitment, I think he had the right to hear that I was considering marrying you. Anyway, I returned to Durham, you went to India, and you know the rest of the story … No matter what happens, I want you to know that I love and respect you and dearly wish that you feel the same about me. Lee.

  Lonely and forlorn on Jersey, Gerald perked up hugely when Lee’s letter arrived. He did not reply at once, but when he did it was with passion tempered with clarity and perspective.

  Empty Bed Avenue, Lonely Flat, Love Lorn, Melancholia

  11 April 1978

  My lovely and most true McGeorge,

  Firstly let me say that I found your letter sweet, touching and (if I may quote your mother) more than a little naive. And, dare I say it, I found it more than a little illogical in places.

  In Jersey I pursued you relentlessly and you finally agreed to marry me. You say that we never discussed the fact that you were in love with someone else. We did. Endlessly. You say that you should have told Lincoln that you had agreed to marry me. But may I remind you that it was only because I nagged you that you phoned him up, because I insisted that it was refined cruelty to meet him at the airport with the news. Furthermore I said – and you must remember this – that if you went back to Durham and slept with Lincoln I felt you would be unfair to him and to yourself, since it would upset you emotionally all over again.

  Now, you had agreed to marry me. That as far as I was concerned was a commitment. It was, if you like to talk conventionally, the same as an old fashioned engagement. So from that moment, for my part, I was going to be faithful to you because I do not believe in commitment like this or in marriage if you are going to behave otherwise. If it wasn’t exactly a love match from your point of view it was at least a business arrangement if you like, and so I expected you to behave in the same way. When I found that you had not I was greatly hurt. I don’t think you can conceive how bitter I felt or how abandoned. Let me explain.

  For twenty-five years I struggled to make my marriage work because I feel if you get married you should work hard at it. I did work hard at it in the face of constant nagging and total lack of love both mental and physical, so much so that I had a severe nervous breakdown. The marriage limped along for a few years after that but then it burst. I don’t know how to explain it but it left me feeling unclean; it left me feeling that I had contracted some fearful disease and that I could no longer be in any way attractive to a woman. It was a very degrading feeling I can assure you and I started to drink again. As a reaction I decided that I could no longer feel deeply for a woman nor did I want to. I also decided that they were not to be trusted and I in no way was going to get myself in the position of being mentally scalded that way again. Then I met you.

  At first – in my new role as the suspi
cious and untrusting male – I just thought it would be nice to sleep with you and nothing more. Then I weakened and I thought how pleasant it would be to have you around for a year or two. And then – bloody Hell – I was deeply in love with you in a way that I never thought I could love somebody. I did not want to have you float through my bed and leave no more trace than all the women I had been having affairs with before I met you. I wanted you with me forever, however long forever is. I could not believe my luck in finding you nor my luck in getting you to agree to marry me. I was in multicoloured Euphorialand. Suddenly after months and months of living a life that seemed dead, grey, pointless and out of focus, everything became crisp and clear like the first coloured day of Spring after a long frozen shroud of Winter. I thought of you first thing in the morning and last thing at night. I spent so much of the day mentally planning what we will do together that I found I was neglecting my work. But underneath all this I was still suspicious (not of you, my sweet, but at my luck – I could hardly believe it), I was still suffering from a massive inferiority complex and feeling about as unepigamic as a six month corpse.

  Then your letter arrived in Calcutta.

  To say that I was shattered means nothing. I felt that you had, both mentally and physically, dipped me into a keg of vitriol and all the worst feeling that I had suffered since Jacquie left me returned with glee and redoubled force.

  My sweet, please rid yourself of the thought (which is somewhat of a naive excuse as your mother pointed out) that all this was due to a generation gap. Oh, of course we will have generation gap problems, and it will be your fault for marrying a geriatric case. But my sweet idiot, you can’t be so muddled in your thought processes or so sheltered from the harsh facts of life that you don’t know that anyone can feel jealous, hurt, abandoned, frustrated love and wounded pride, from the age of five to five hundred. So I must make it clear to you that because I love you I shall react in exactly the same way as I did should the same circumstances arise.