A little background
Whimsical but true!
SOME ADOPT HIGHWAYS, OTHERS OTHERS!
As I have often said, I have lived a rich, if not wealthy life.
I was dragged up quite nicely by Eddie and Mary from a cold-water tenement in Galston, Scotland, to several different social housing units in Liverpool, before our first, family-owned house in Blackburn.
During that period of nomadic existence, I went to four different Primary Schools in order to get a head start on my 17th century education. Meanwhile, Dad taught me the odd manner and Ma taught me how to survive, if not thrive, on over-cooked meat and vegetables. She had perfected the art of cooking for people with no teeth despite me having all mine and Dad having false ones – although his would live a separate existence at night, in a jar in the bathroom, ready to scare any thief or unsuspecting overnight guest. Needless to say, we didn’t have many guests, and they never stayed more than once.
I lived in blissful ignorance as an only child. I was wrapped up in my own little world, content to play by myself, read and make up all sorts of fictitious stories. My life was uninvaded by others except when, apparently, at about the age of three, the kid next door pissed me off and I whacked him (or her) on the head with a garden trowel. For whatever reason that attempt at manslaughter amused my mother who told the story to just about everyone she knew until her last breath left her. To the best of my recollection, that is the only act of physical violence I have ever perpetrated. But a true juvenile delinquent, none the less.
I was a happy, if anti-social and almost criminal, only child and, as a result, never even had an imaginary friend. No, not for me to invent some cosmic companion, some figment of friendship, or amicable alien to help me through the day and with whom I could share my deepest, darkest thoughts. No, I had no Hobbes to me being Calvin. (Although I did have three stuffed animals, Fido, Teddy and Muppy – the latter being some kind of rabbit, but he was missing a few bits which rendered him more amoeba-like than Oryctolagus cuniculus.)
Looking back, I can have no real issues with my childhood. Sure, Ma and Pa had their differences and my mother’s Etna-like temper would occasionally erupt and I am sure I caused some wailing and gnashing of teeth but, hey, that’s part of the rich tapestry of life that we weave. Even if ours looked more like a well-worn dishcloth rather than a fine Kilim!
So, it might come as a surprise to you to find out that at in my early 50s I was adopted.
It certainly came as a surprise to my parents as they were still alive and kicking. But yes, I was adopted. And I was adopted by a single mother, no less.
A quick pen picture, as they say, to fill you in. This happened in Britain but, like many there, she was a former Commonwealth citizen and an immigrant. She was, in fact, from India. Although not a pescatarian, she was a vegetarian and, truth be told, she was quite large boned for being a veggie. Unlike many Indian women she eschewed jewelry and makeup and basically just wore a light dusting of powder. She had adoring eyes and beautifully shaped ears. In fact, here is a picture of her just applying the finishing touches to herself before going out: -
Yes, unbelievably I was adopted by an elephant!
At the time, I worked for the Duke of Bedford and one of my responsibilities was to oversee the Safari Park where, amongst many other animals (none in cages), we had three Asian elephants. Chandrika, Damini, and Raja.
It was Damini who adopted me. God knows how it happened, but I think it was love at first sight - on her behalf. When in the park, and I would go in most days, Damini would follow me everywhere I went and if I didn’t see her for a day or two, she would, literally, come running over to me – full tilt, ground shaking. Not for the faint of heart for an elephant to have a crush on you given that when they run, they are faster than you!
Needless to say, when in the Park, I was, more often than not, there to talk to some humans, but if she were there too, she would use her trunk to try and turn me around to look at her (she almost always succeeded), or she would grab my hand with her trunk and ‘hold hands’. That’s when I discovered that elephant snot stinks and it takes quite a bit of soap and water to ‘come clean.’ Wash, rinse, repeat - ad infinitum and it still lingers. Think of a less noxious skunk.
One thing she liked me to do was to take her for a walk which meant I had to trot just to keep up with her walking gait. Inevitably when out walking she would run off and hide. Now you might think that’s a hard thing to do but if you have ever seen them in the wild, they are a) hard to spot, b) blend in incredibly well, c) they are amazingly quiet for such large beasts. Here she is after I found her hiding spot: -
When visiting I would often take her fruit to eat but special occasions deserved special treatment and so here she is with her Easter basket: -
On one occasion The Times did an article about my work with Elephant Family and the journalist wanted a photo to go with it. I arranged for Chandrika and Damini to be available, and we had a shot with the three of us together – me in the middle. The photographer was faffing around with angles and elevations and adjusting us to capture the ‘decisive moment.’ He kept wanting the elephants to close in on me (now don’t forget these are wild animals!) – until I yelled, “You are trying to get the decisive moment, not my final moment – just take the effing picture!”
So, there you have it. My adopted mother. It is often said that dog owners and their pets grow to look similar. I suspect you can see a lot of us in each other!