The Duke's Demesne

Welcome back to The Dreaming Dandy - a repository of ruminations on life and its counter realm, the dreamscape. My name is Aloysius Nightingale, a 21st century dandy and your faithful narrator through the often perplexing and sometimes frightening episodes of existence. In some instances, place names and character names will be altered for privacy protection, for one cannot be too careful when publishing information on the Wild West Web. Now that introductions are out of the way, let us without further preamble fling open the gates of horn and ivory and meet a singularly eccentric personage, and explore the curious locale wherein he rules as lord.

I have written before about zoos appearing in strange places, but let me tell you now about an arrangement that would not have been out of the pale in times past. Our destination is the rolling green grounds of Sussex University campus, where I was assisting with the installation of a new teacher. During this task, I made the acquaintance of another professor from the School of Media, Arts and Humanities, known only as the Duke. He was a roguish gentleman rather past the middle years, approaching that age in life where all things are permitted or overlooked. His careless appearance sporting tobacco-stained tweeds and rambunctious side whiskers bespoke of a type more at ease in the stables than the classroom, and a marked preference for the wine cup over the lectern. I soon learned that he was only contracted to deliver one lecture a year, and even this he grumbled about. In addition to his sparing duties, of which he demanded a hefty annuity, he resided on the campus grounds at the university's expense as though he were Vice-Chancellor. Why should this bloated remnant of the aristocracy suck dry the struggling coffers of the university? Due to his contribution to film in a more active phase of his career, the Duke was held in high esteem by the academic community. He had long ago fallen into slothful and disreputable ways, and yet the university persisted in their belief that they were "very lucky to have him."

After complaining to the faculty about his upcoming lecture, the Duke left the teaching block to return to his manor, but not before inviting some staff and students, myself included, for a tour of his estate. On the way to the park on the edge of campus, where the 1960s Brutalist concrete gave way to the bucolic greens of National Heritage South Downs, I was surprised to discover a paddock of zebra (Equus quagga) and hear their distinctive whooping barks. It was explained that they were overspill from the Duke's private menagerie, which we would shortly be seeing more of. My interest thus piqued, we proceeded beneath a decorative archway to the tree-lined avenue that led to his domain. The Duke strolled a little ahead of the group with a haughty air, deigning not to exchange words with his guests. Everywhere one looked there were topiary hedges sculpted into upright phalluses, giving one a telling glimpse into the Duke's nature. In addition to his other vices, the Duke was a predatory invert who notoriously coerced male students to their defilement at his lair. His patrons turned a blind eye to these unsavoury incidents.

The Duke's park was a heavily wooded one, made up of superb beech and elm trees. The sun filtered through this leafy canopy, suffusing everything with a golden green glow, lending an impression of a sylvan grotto. One may well have believed themselves to have entered Circe's enchanted glade, for imagine my great astonishment when we came upon the ornate cages of exotic animals. Some way to the left through the trees was a wrought iron cage with green painted bars in the Victorian style, behind which paced a great tawny lion (Panthera leo). Even from this distance, I could tell that the beast was of a formidable size not often seen today. Hard by the lion cage was a meshed, multi-levelled compound housing a troop of mandrills (Mandrillus sphinx) with their iconic painted faces and rumps. Directly in our path was another enclosure separated by a narrow moat and populated with enormously overfed brown bears (Ursus actos), their wet black noses snuffling expectantly for food as we got closer. To the right of the avenue, opposite the bears, was a dome-topped temple for gorillas (Gorilla gorilla), dimly glimpsed sifting through their hay as hulking black shadows.

I was much struck by the prodigious largeness of all these animals, and upon hearing our appreciative comments, the Duke turned around to boast that they were "Beasts of empire selectively bred from prime imperial stock, not like the piddling specimens found in modern public zoos." Like a spoiled child showcasing his toys, he gestured towards a red and gold oriental pavilion past the gorilla house, proudly asserting that he also kept giant pandas (Ailuropoda melanoleuca), prestigious gifts from the Chinese government. From an unseen lake came the honking cries of waterfowl, many of which in his philanthropy he had donated to the university for free. He lamented that this was all that remained of a once thriving collection. We were given leave to wander at will whilst he returned to his sprawling stone mansion beyond the menagerie. The Duke spent much of his time indulging his introverted passions of animal husbandry and tinkering with toys. A miniature track had been set up around the grounds, along which he raced radio controlled cars. I was disappointed to learn from a groundsman that the park was normally strictly off limits to visitors, as I had hoped to spend an occasional lunch break there.

The reek of the animals and their copious amounts of waste was overpowering in its mammalian pungency and had attracted large swarms of flies that worried the faces of the resident bears. An American film student with tanned skin, white teeth, and blonde hair, perhaps a future victim of the Duke, posed for a selfie in front of the bears, and soon his face too was covered in flies. The huge animals loomed over a railing I worried was far too low to contain them. When they rose to stand on two legs, they presented a wall of matted fur and brawn eight feet high. Before I had an opportunity to explore the other exhibits, we received word that the tour was over and the Duke kindly requested we vacate his premises. The party dispersed and I made my way back alone, quite overwhelmed by all I had seen. As I exited the park and drew near the zebras, the unmistakable laughing grunts of hippos (Hippopotamus amphibibius) reached my ears, and I saw something I had missed earlier. Part of the Duke's lake extended down to the campus proper, and an enclosed section of the water was hemmed in by teaching buildings.

Hippos have long been a favourite animal of mine, and I walked over for a closer look. I was not alone in hoping to get a sight of them, a Muslim man and his young children were excitedly pressing against the rails. Preferring such experiences alone, I tarried until they should move on, but unaware of the danger presented by these African juggernauts, in a brace of shakes, the children had scaled the fence and were down in the mud and water. Their delighted cries turned to screams of fear as they were boisterously harassed by two junior hippos. The broad grey bulk of a full-grown adult hippo cruised through the water towards the children. Like any father worth his salt, the man was over the fence and floundering to rescue his offspring. A crowd of bewildered spectators gathered, and with their assistance, the family were dragged to safety not a moment too soon. The avenging hippopotamus erupted from the pool, chomping its fleshy jaws and splashing everyone with muddy backwash.

I reflected on the university’s indulgence of the Duke, the dangers that his animals represented, and the less than sanitary conditions in which they were kept. It was evident that before long, a more serious incident would occur, and that would be the end, if not of his unorthodox position, most certainly of his bestiary. I do hope that you enjoyed this surprising tale of a man out of time, and that you will look forward to more such adventures in the years to follow. For now, I bid my gentle readers a happy and prosperous New Year. May the less than exemplary conduct of the Duke stand as warning to your own.