Lawrence Bates reflects on the transformation of the former Isle of Wight zoo into a unique ‘walled town’ designed as a sanctuary for traumatised animals and an ongoing experiment in regenerative design.
Words
Lawrence Bates
The first thing you notice about the Wildheart Animal Sanctuary is its imposing façade:
a fortress of granite, brick and concrete that looks menacingly out to sea deterring people from entering. As one of Palmerston’s forts, built to deter would-be French invaders, this was its original intent. It’s a stark contrast to its surroundings – the shores of picturesque Sandown Bay in the Isle of Wight, one of the country’s best beaches with golden sands and turquoise sea stretching away to impressive white cliffs that border the bay. With an enviable location, great local resources and good cover for defence, many communities have thrived here over the years. Today, within the walls of this fortress, the most remarkable town has sprung up, protected from the outside world by the fierce wall that keeps out not just the weather, but somehow the pressures and problems of the outside world. A town for new beginnings. A place to rebuild lives with no worries or concerns; a true sanctuary from life. The communities are non-human animals; exotic and diverse species from across the world, rescued from horrendous conditions and brought to this oasis to recover in peace.
Wandering through this sanctuary, it’s impossible not to be inspired by the stories
of its residents; tales of tremendous resilience and grit in the face of overwhelming abuse and neglect. Starting at the top of the hill within the primate quarter, you are welcomed by the newest resident, Caesar the marmoset. Discovered in a house in the Midlands in a tiny bird cage, overweight from a diet of marshmallows, pancakes and toast, he now sits atop a silver birch tree and chatters to the visitors as they arrive, telling them his tale.
As you wander the avenues of rescued animals, many more tales of survival are told. The architecture reflects the animals’ stories of new opportunities and beginnings, turning away from traditional materials and methods to explore alternatives that complement the rescued residents and the natural world. Nowhere is this more evident than the towering primate homes; two massive geodesic bamboo domes that house families of rescued lemurs. Consisting of nearly 800 lengths of Guadua bamboo, which laid end-to-end would stretch two kilometres, these natural structures are every bit as impressive as the cathedrals of other cities. They aren’t just for show; their height and uninterrupted space allows the primates to move about unimpeded as they would in the wild, which, in turn, drives a swift recovery from previous traumas. They are linked by a house made of 102 bales of straw and a path recycled from an old swimming pool. It’s not just the animals that get a chance at a new life here, but materials and buildings too.
It’s not just the animals that get a chance at a new life, but materials and buildings too”
Deeper into the sanctuary, you encounter the fiercest residents – the carnivores. From three-legged tigers to lions rescued from beast wagons, they carry the scars of their previous life having had their canine teeth filed off and claws ripped out (a popular way of preventing attacks in circuses). They wander through naturalistic habitats created out of man’s rejected materials. Casper, the king of the sanctuary, regularly roars out from atop a mountain made from old cars, wardrobes and wheelbarrows. Now re-formed into a natural feature that supports a myriad of native species, nobody would guess its inauspicious beginnings.
As you move on towards the reptile house, you pass street art created from plastic bottles and discarded fishing nets from the island’s beaches, now transformed into ten-foot high ammonites, tree jelly fish and even the sanctuary’s very own womble. They look great, yet carry a stark message about waste and man’s impact on the natural world. The reptiles themselves are contained with reclaimed timber and recycled tin sheets from a local barn, and fed from plants grown on site by local school children who come once a week to tend to the sanctuary’s vegetable patch.
On again to some of the world’s most impressive, yet most abused, species – bears. More than 300 bears are suffering across Europe alone. Used as grotesque attractions at restaurants, gas stations and nightclubs, this magnificent animal has somehow become a tool to generate profits for man. The sanctuary is making them a new world; a 3,500 square metre habitat created from discarded rubble, recycled timber, old sewerage pipes and even local boat floats. This will be the first time these bears feel grass under their feet and have water to bathe in and trees to climb – everything they need to become bears again.
It’s impossible to be surrounded by stories of such resilience without reflecting on your own life. The animals here can teach us a lot about focusing on the future and embracing opportunities, rather than wallowing in troubles of the past. And if they can thrive, after the horrors of abuse and mutilation, suddenly the pressures of my work deadlines don’t seem so important anymore.
