They said "thanks Gramps" but the pleasure was all mine (From Watford Observer)

They said "thanks Gramps" but the pleasure was all mine

1:30pm Thursday 2nd September 2010

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I WAS delighted the other day when we took three grandchildren to see the Wolves of Chabiere , near Gueret, the ‘capital’ of the Creuse, Limousin. The girls, aged between eight and 13, really enjoyed the journey into the forest, home to the admirably-run commercial compound, which houses a number of varieties of wolves in something akin to a compression of their natural habitat.

In one large compound, probably bigger than Vicarage Road, you can watch from a raised platform a number of wolves feeding, dozing and playing. The children were delighted to see four cubs playing by a water hole, some ten yards from our observation post.

All in all it was a very successful outing and they expressed thanks for us taking them and also the hope that they can go again, next year.

All of which made me feel a bit of a hypocrite, because if they had not come with me, I would have gone on my own.

The roots of my fascination for and love of wolves is buried in my childhood. I know I joined the cubs when I was six and my favourite teacher, changed her blouse and wore a scarf and ceased to be Miss Beach for an hour or so. She was to be addressed as Akela and I was informed I was a member of a wolf-pack.

She was ably assisted by another teacher, who I also liked. She went by the name of Bagheera.

I was encouraged to read from an early age and books became my refuge. My father felt the necessity to make sure all my leisure activities were geared to learning, so while other kids had picture books with captions, I was given a book depicting sundry historical incidents, with sparse details provided.

I suppose it worked, because I love history. Even now I can see in my mind’s eye pictures of William (II) Rufus out riding and an arrow heading his way; Queen Philippa pleading for the lives of the Burghers of Calais in front of her husband Edward III; Simon de Montfort emerging from a forest hell bent on setting up England’s first parliament.

Happily my grandmother brought a little fiction to my horizon when she gave me a large copy of Mowgli’s stories, which managed to pass through my father’s censorship on the grounds the book was a classic written by Rudyard Kipling.

I was captivated. Here I found Akela and Bagheera and a new character, Baloo the bear. The colour prints and drawings helped to depict the action and I became totally captivated. By the time I was nine I had read it four or five times and it took several years I suspect before I acknowledged that it was no longer my favourite all-time book. I still have Mowgli’s Stories and I confess I must have re-read it a few times as an adult.

Walt Disney, when planning to use the book as an animation, instructed his top men to read the Kipling version and then “forget all about it.” I enjoyed the film Jungle Book but it had very little connection with the original. It was fun, family entertainment, whereas the book has a certain nobility with some superb adult-themed inter-action between such as Bagheera, Kaa (the python) and Baloo. None of them were figures of fun.

And in the background was Akela, the old grey wolf, who became my childhood fictional hero.

By the time I was ten, I had come across Jack London and his books Call of the Wild and White Fang, which only confirmed the wolf as the animal that fascinated me most.

I found it very hard to reconcile the fictional images with the general perception of wolves, who have received a particularly bad press down the centuries. Indeed, there has not been one reported incident of a wolf attacking any humans who walk or camp in national parks, where the wolf is present.

Not that they are innocent creatures but there are still many wild wolves in Europe, mostly confined to the mountainous or hilly regions close to the international borders.

In Germany the reckon there are more wild wolves than at any stage during the last 200 years, which may cause some a degree of concern but that means approximately 50 wild wolves. There are 210 in Sweden, similar numbers in Norway, and France has a fair number, perhaps more than Switzerland’s 20.

They have a lot of wild boar in this region of France. We have yet to see one although some ex-pats have been lucky. I hope to spot a wild boar one day, but the chances of seeing a wolf are extremely remote.

Until next summer holidays when the grandchildren visit, that is.