Urban wildlife in the shadow of death

The life of a wildlife photographer and artist is seldom simple, as Robert Fuller found out during a recent trip north of the border which showed him the dark side of city life.

I consider myself a countryman through and through. But never was this brought home to me more clearly than during a night’s stay in Glasgow last month.

It followed a tremendous week of watching wildlife on the island of Islay, an isolated beauty spot off the west coast of Scotland.

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The journey home to Yorkshire from Islay is a long one – some 12 hours door to door. With two young children, Lily, age four, and Ruby, nine months, in tow, it made sense to break the journey with a night somewhere.

I decided on Glasgow, in the hope that I could revisit a family of roe deer that inhabit the Necropolis cemetery in the city centre but as I pulled into the city centre, the car filled to the brim with holiday gear and topped with a large sea canoe, I began to feel a bit lost. We also felt conspicuous in our muddy 4x4 dressed in green fleeces and climbing boots.

The last time I visited the cemetery there had been just the two of us, my wife Vick and I. It had been an unsettling experience.

The evening had begun promisingly, with a clear sighting of the doe and her two fawns out in the open on mown grass. I was delighted to be able to photograph her whole form, right down to her hooves, as the pictures made important studies for my paintings. So often in the countryside their bodies are obscured by foliage.

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As the evening drew on, however, the cemetery became increasingly menacing. The deer gave way to gangs of young lads drinking Special Brew. In spite of the fact that I am 6ft 2in and weigh 15 stone, I felt uneasy. We were alone and carrying expensive camera gear.

But, having spotted a fox den in a remote corner, I was reluctant to leave. As the light faded, a patrolling security van sent drunks and foxes scattering into the shadows.

Thickset security guards came over for a word.

“If those cameras are worth anything I wouldn’t be hanging around,” said one, matter-of-factly.

I asked if he knew about the deer, especially the roe buck that I’d yet to see. “Found dead two weeks ago,” he said as he got back into his van.

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We waited a bit longer to see if the foxes showed but the drunks re-emerged from the shadows so we took his advice and headed off.

The following morning we returned at 5am, knowing it would be a safer place at this time. And sure enough we had three happy hours photographing the deer in peace, until at about 9.30am two figures dressed as Goths appeared, giving me the fright of my life, their eyes dark and sunken and their skin deathly white. They looked like they had just stepped out one of the graves.

We stayed with the deer the rest of the day and only went back to the hotel for tea. We both felt dubious about another evening in 
the graveyard, but we had come all the way to see the deer and so we were reluctant to give up.

It didn’t take long to find the deer again and this time we also spotted some young fox cubs. We hid behind some tombs and they scampered along a wall in front of us.

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I had only taken one photograph when they suddenly scarpered. I looked over my shoulder to see what had frightened them and saw a gang of eight boys, all aged about 10, walking toward us carrying crowbars.

They seemed to find our accent hilarious. One boy admitted he had never been out of Glasgow. He was one of seven children, he said, living with his mum in a condemned block of flats. We could see the building from the cemetery.

Later, I asked a groundsman why these boys were carrying the crowbars. I learnt they use them to break into the tombs, looking for valuables. They also take out skulls and skeletons and lay them out in the paths to frighten the tourists with. Charming.

In the intervening years I produced eight paintings of those graveyard roe deer and so I was keen to see how they had fared at my next visit.

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Remembering the unsavoury characters that occupied the cemetery at night, I left Vick, Lily and Ruby in the hotel room and set off alone this time.

The door to the gatehouse of the cemetery was open so I knocked and walked in to ask about the deer. “They’ve gone mate,” said the groundsman.

His face grave, he told me they had been killed by a gang of lads with air rifles and dogs back in 2006.

You could see the emotion etched in the face of the man as he told me that he had found the doe with over 20 air rifle pellets in her head and her body torn apart by dogs. I felt a lump in my throat – I had painted her so many times, she really did feel like an old friend.

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I decided to go in any way to see if there was any other wildlife about.

But the groundsman warned me, saying that he himself had been attacked five times. With some trepidation I went into the cemetery – he was right there was no wildlife left, just a few squirrels, magpies, crows and dodgy types drinking beer.

Early the next morning I decided to give the wildlife one more chance. Picking my way past beer bottles, chip wrappers, takeaway cartons and splattered sick, I noted how different this was to my usual wildlife watches.

But I saw nothing that day either, except a brief glimpse of a wary fox slipping through some gravestones. But to me what had made this place so special was its roe deer.

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I walked back to the hotel, followed by an addict in a hoodie. Back at the hotel I said to Vick, “Let’s go.” “Yes,” she agreed “Let’s go home.”

Robert Fuller – wildlife artist

Robert E Fuller is one of the country’s most respected wildlife artists.

His paintings sell all over the world and his trademark, highly-detailed images have been 
adopted at home by 
the RSPB and the National Trust. He has exhibited in wildlife galleries across Europe and up to 7,000 people visit his own 
gallery in North Yorkshire each year.

A recognized authority on wildlife, Robert often appears on television and regularly writes about his wildlife subjects for the Yorkshire Post.