It all began with the Dodo by Blossom Hoyles
'You scum!’. Tory Scum!!’ What you’re doing is sick.!’
‘Come on now, move away. These people are trying to get through the gate,’ shouted one of the uniformed security personnel as Charles, leading a small party, tried to move forward towards the entrance to the exhibition and convention room at Blenheim Palace which they’d hired for their taxidermy conference. Dorothy flinched as the guard pushed past her. She’d travelled a long way yesterday from her home in Harwich on the east Coast of England to meet up with the group, the League against Cruel Sports, at the George and Dragon Inn in the village of Sutton Courtenay near Oxford. What a night they’d had, fuelled by pints of real ale, firing each other up with talk of recent actions and discussion about the perceived plot to encourage more people to kill and stuff endangered species. The reason for their presence now, hectoring Charles and his associates.
Dorothy’s thoughts wandered back to last night when, mingling amongst the gentile out to eat in their sleepy prosperous quarter not far from the city of dreaming spires, she’d begun to question what had brought her to this. Fit for her 55 years, surrounded largely by youngsters, students she regarded as friends; after all she shared the same political ideas; the same degree of enmity, hatred even towards anyone harming animals ,she was beginning to waver and feel just a little bit old and foolish. Wouldn’t she be better off back in safe old Harwich with her beloved cats? The campsite could have been fun but the floor was hard and thanks to the drink she’d slept well for the first few hours but couldn’t get back to sleep after that, and without the comfort of a bedside light couldn’t read either. She’d listened for hours instead to the earthly sounds of hidden creatures, snoring and sexed up humans, nocturnal alarming cries. She’d always thrived on adventure and new experiences so what was happening to her now? Was she becoming older than she’d ever thought herself or were her views showing cracks?
‘Murderers!’ Effie cried as she hurled a Frisbee towards the head of a man bringing up the rear of the group hurrying towards the door. Oh Hell, she’s hit the man and he’s falling over, blood pouring out of his head, and in the ensuing commotion she’s being roughly hauled by a uniform towards an awaiting dark blue truck. Loudly protesting she’s shoved into the vehicle by strong, unforgiving hands and just as suddenly the door’s shut tight and she’s alone on the cold metal floor. What the hell! Don’t they know it wasn’t her! It’s stark in the van and so cold and she shivers in shock. She can still hear a lot of noise outside but so far no-one else has joined her in the truck and there are no windows to see out of, but still fully expecting company as shock subsides so her indignation rises and she begins banging on the sides shouting for help, pleading for someone to hear her. They must know she wasn’t responsible, and she now begins to wonder what’s happened to the injured man.
Charles, heading the queue into the Centre by some distance hasn’t heard the commotion. His head is filled with fluff. His responsibilities in organising and successfully concluding this conference scramble his thoughts in all directions and with a fair degree of nervous energy thrown in he can’t wait to start and get it over with. His love of this hobby sent him spinning into a vortex of ideas that drove him to seek out other taxidermists eighteen long months ago. There weren’t many left. And of those even fewer whom he managed to carry along with his enthusiasm to reignite this exacting dying craft he had so much pride in. He’d considered its importance to future science even though animals and especially endangered species were so much more accessible now through high profile TV documentaries of which there were several and zoos had even boarded the educational conservation bus. Feeling like an endangered species himself he was nevertheless determined to resurrect this passion of his into a growing art form once more, planning courses for the burgeoning grey population looking for a hobby to excite.
As for the ethical questions he thought it better that species be preserved to admire and remind if they were going to be wiped out anyway. A physical presence that couldn’t up to now be replicated on screen. And the process in understanding was so educational; to understand the biology and beauty of another creature. He didn’t find it at all morbid. Such natural history he believed to be the stuff of some child’s dreams. He was lucky. He’d lived within striking distance of the Oxford Museum of Natural History for over 30 years and it’s collections are world famous. Of 1000 specimen types in its zoological collection alone. it is home to the most complete remains of the Dodo in the world. Just think of all the Dodos that once existed Oxford houses just the one that is most complete, even so it’s a mummified head and foot. The Dodo. How evocative that name of dear and chummy. Dodo dumb not so. It seems they were presumed dumb because they were so unafraid of visiting sailors to their adopted island home that they willingly and trustingly boarded their ships unaware of the fate that was to befall them. That was where it all started, Charles supposed. On the very island he spent his early childhood. And at that moment he longed for the tropical vegetation, sun and sea and white sand fringed by Indian Ocean, home of the Dodo.
Dorothy was scared as the minutes ticked by and nobody joined her, and angry with Effie. She didn’t know the student well but she was beginning to suspect that she would deny her actions if questioned and she, Dorothy would carry the can. She’d never been arrested before and what if the man was really hurt, dead even? What kind of trouble was she in?
Don’t be ridiculous she told herself, this is crazy, you haven’t done anything. They must have CCTV she thought. Then it would all be cleared up. Oh my God, what about Winter and Sunshine my cats! She wasn’t expected back till late but already her imagination was leaping days and even weeks ahead. She’d had no experience of this kind of thing, only what she’d read in books and watched on telly. Incarceration at this stage looked a real possibility and in a few short minutes she’d time travelled beyond interrogations and courts to a cell block.
‘My phone! Where’s my phone!’ she cried aloud to herself, remembering the new reality of instant communication, ‘my bag, where’s that?’
She’d forgotten everything bar fear in the shock of the arrest. And she couldn’t see either. And another panic took over. All noise seemed to have ceased. What did she really expect? Did she think the group a harmless lobbying Sunday afternoon jolly? A debating society with adventure thrown in? A social event? After all she hated the people killing animals for whatever reason, but did she really hate them with a vengeance, did she want to harm them, kill them even as in an eye for an eye? If she wanted to stop them, was it not just that she wanted to persuade them to stop? But why join a group with such an agenda, a reputation for, dare I say it, terror. ‘Terror!’ The word hit hard, the reality harder. But what else was it? A perceived terrorising of animals by humans and the perpetrators to be terrorised back? That was the agenda she’d joined and tacitly encouraged on her previous outings, but with impunity. Did she not see that one day she’d be called to account?
‘Come on now, move away. These people are trying to get through the gate,’ shouted one of the uniformed security personnel as Charles, leading a small party, tried to move forward towards the entrance to the exhibition and convention room at Blenheim Palace which they’d hired for their taxidermy conference. Dorothy flinched as the guard pushed past her. She’d travelled a long way yesterday from her home in Harwich on the east Coast of England to meet up with the group, the League against Cruel Sports, at the George and Dragon Inn in the village of Sutton Courtenay near Oxford. What a night they’d had, fuelled by pints of real ale, firing each other up with talk of recent actions and discussion about the perceived plot to encourage more people to kill and stuff endangered species. The reason for their presence now, hectoring Charles and his associates.
Dorothy’s thoughts wandered back to last night when, mingling amongst the gentile out to eat in their sleepy prosperous quarter not far from the city of dreaming spires, she’d begun to question what had brought her to this. Fit for her 55 years, surrounded largely by youngsters, students she regarded as friends; after all she shared the same political ideas; the same degree of enmity, hatred even towards anyone harming animals ,she was beginning to waver and feel just a little bit old and foolish. Wouldn’t she be better off back in safe old Harwich with her beloved cats? The campsite could have been fun but the floor was hard and thanks to the drink she’d slept well for the first few hours but couldn’t get back to sleep after that, and without the comfort of a bedside light couldn’t read either. She’d listened for hours instead to the earthly sounds of hidden creatures, snoring and sexed up humans, nocturnal alarming cries. She’d always thrived on adventure and new experiences so what was happening to her now? Was she becoming older than she’d ever thought herself or were her views showing cracks?
‘Murderers!’ Effie cried as she hurled a Frisbee towards the head of a man bringing up the rear of the group hurrying towards the door. Oh Hell, she’s hit the man and he’s falling over, blood pouring out of his head, and in the ensuing commotion she’s being roughly hauled by a uniform towards an awaiting dark blue truck. Loudly protesting she’s shoved into the vehicle by strong, unforgiving hands and just as suddenly the door’s shut tight and she’s alone on the cold metal floor. What the hell! Don’t they know it wasn’t her! It’s stark in the van and so cold and she shivers in shock. She can still hear a lot of noise outside but so far no-one else has joined her in the truck and there are no windows to see out of, but still fully expecting company as shock subsides so her indignation rises and she begins banging on the sides shouting for help, pleading for someone to hear her. They must know she wasn’t responsible, and she now begins to wonder what’s happened to the injured man.
Charles, heading the queue into the Centre by some distance hasn’t heard the commotion. His head is filled with fluff. His responsibilities in organising and successfully concluding this conference scramble his thoughts in all directions and with a fair degree of nervous energy thrown in he can’t wait to start and get it over with. His love of this hobby sent him spinning into a vortex of ideas that drove him to seek out other taxidermists eighteen long months ago. There weren’t many left. And of those even fewer whom he managed to carry along with his enthusiasm to reignite this exacting dying craft he had so much pride in. He’d considered its importance to future science even though animals and especially endangered species were so much more accessible now through high profile TV documentaries of which there were several and zoos had even boarded the educational conservation bus. Feeling like an endangered species himself he was nevertheless determined to resurrect this passion of his into a growing art form once more, planning courses for the burgeoning grey population looking for a hobby to excite.
As for the ethical questions he thought it better that species be preserved to admire and remind if they were going to be wiped out anyway. A physical presence that couldn’t up to now be replicated on screen. And the process in understanding was so educational; to understand the biology and beauty of another creature. He didn’t find it at all morbid. Such natural history he believed to be the stuff of some child’s dreams. He was lucky. He’d lived within striking distance of the Oxford Museum of Natural History for over 30 years and it’s collections are world famous. Of 1000 specimen types in its zoological collection alone. it is home to the most complete remains of the Dodo in the world. Just think of all the Dodos that once existed Oxford houses just the one that is most complete, even so it’s a mummified head and foot. The Dodo. How evocative that name of dear and chummy. Dodo dumb not so. It seems they were presumed dumb because they were so unafraid of visiting sailors to their adopted island home that they willingly and trustingly boarded their ships unaware of the fate that was to befall them. That was where it all started, Charles supposed. On the very island he spent his early childhood. And at that moment he longed for the tropical vegetation, sun and sea and white sand fringed by Indian Ocean, home of the Dodo.
Dorothy was scared as the minutes ticked by and nobody joined her, and angry with Effie. She didn’t know the student well but she was beginning to suspect that she would deny her actions if questioned and she, Dorothy would carry the can. She’d never been arrested before and what if the man was really hurt, dead even? What kind of trouble was she in?
Don’t be ridiculous she told herself, this is crazy, you haven’t done anything. They must have CCTV she thought. Then it would all be cleared up. Oh my God, what about Winter and Sunshine my cats! She wasn’t expected back till late but already her imagination was leaping days and even weeks ahead. She’d had no experience of this kind of thing, only what she’d read in books and watched on telly. Incarceration at this stage looked a real possibility and in a few short minutes she’d time travelled beyond interrogations and courts to a cell block.
‘My phone! Where’s my phone!’ she cried aloud to herself, remembering the new reality of instant communication, ‘my bag, where’s that?’
She’d forgotten everything bar fear in the shock of the arrest. And she couldn’t see either. And another panic took over. All noise seemed to have ceased. What did she really expect? Did she think the group a harmless lobbying Sunday afternoon jolly? A debating society with adventure thrown in? A social event? After all she hated the people killing animals for whatever reason, but did she really hate them with a vengeance, did she want to harm them, kill them even as in an eye for an eye? If she wanted to stop them, was it not just that she wanted to persuade them to stop? But why join a group with such an agenda, a reputation for, dare I say it, terror. ‘Terror!’ The word hit hard, the reality harder. But what else was it? A perceived terrorising of animals by humans and the perpetrators to be terrorised back? That was the agenda she’d joined and tacitly encouraged on her previous outings, but with impunity. Did she not see that one day she’d be called to account?