on spread wings with the sunlight catching his vivid plumage and his
sparkling eye.
David was hooked by the photography bug, and there were more lenses and
cameras and tripods, until Debra protested that it was a hobby which was
completely visual, and from which she was excluded.
David had one of his inspirations of genius. He sent away for pressings
of June Stannard's bird song recordings, and Debra was enchanted. She
listened to them intently, her whole face lighting with pleasure when
she recognized a familiar call.
From there it was a natural step for her to attempt to make her own bird
recordings, which included the tinkle of Zulu's silver bell, the buzz of
David's Land Rover, the voices of the servants arguing in the kitchen
yard, and faintly, very faintly, the chatter of a glossy starling.
It's no damned good, Debra complained bitterly I wonder how she got hers
so clear and close David did some reading, and built a parabolic
reflector for her. it did not look particularly lovely, but it worked.
Aimed at a sound source it gathered and directed the sound waves into
the microphone.
From the window of Debra's study they became more adventurous and moved
out. He built permanent and comfortable hides beside the drinking
places at the pools, and when his rangers reported a nesting site of an
interesting bird species, they would build temporary blinds of thatch
and canvas, sometimes on tall stilts where David and Debra spent many
silent and enjoyable hours together, shooting film and catching sound.
Even Zulu learned to he still and silent with his bell removed on these
occasions.
Slowly they had begun to build up a library of photographs and
recordings of a professional standard, until at last David plucked up
sufficient courage to send to African Wild Life Magazine a selection of
a dozen of his best slides. Two weeks later, he received a letter of
acceptance, with a cheque for a hundred dollars. This payment
represented a return of approximately one twentieth of one percent of
his capital outlay on equipment. David was ecstatic, and Debra's
pleasure almost as great as his. They drank two bottles of Veuve
Clicquot for dinner, and under the spell of excitement and champagne
their love-making that night was particularly inventive.
When David's photographs were published in Wild Life accompanied with
Debra's text, they reaped an unexpected harvest of letters from persons
of similar interest all over the world, and a request from the editors
for a full-length, illustrated article on Jabulani, and the Morgans
plans for turning it into a game sanctuary.
Debra made a lovely model for David's photographs that he compiled for
the article, and she also worked with care on the text, while David fed
her ideas and criticism.
Debra's new book lay abandoned, but her disappointment was forgotten in
the pleasure of working together.
Their correspondence with other conservationists provided them with
sufficient intellectual stimulus, and the occasional company of Conrad
Berg and Jane satisfied their need for human contact. They were still
