Barbados Wildlife Reserve

Barbados had spent the previous night being reminded that the Caribbean was not, in fact, a permanent advertisement for expensive holidays.

A storm had swept across the island, bringing heavy rain, gusty winds and enough dramatic weather to make the palm trees perform what looked suspiciously like an emergency evacuation drill. By morning, the worst had passed, leaving the air cooler, the ground damp and the gardens sparkling with raindrops.

For the adults, this was a welcome relief from the heat.

For Barry Brand and Marmaduke Jackson, it was an opportunity to investigate whether the weather had left any dinosaurs behind.

They had been reunited in Barbados after a week apart, and their friendship had resumed with the force of two small magnets being reunited after a lengthy and frankly unnecessary separation. Since arriving, they had discussed treasure, designed an expedition, inspected the hotel and nearly caused Marjory Jackson to require a third coffee before breakfast.

Today, however, Marmaduke had a plan.

He announced it at breakfast with the confidence of a man who had recently been appointed Minister for Holidays.

“We should go to Barbados Wildlife Reserve.”

Mr Brand looked up from his coffee.

“Should we?”

“Yes. They have tortoises.”

Barry’s spoon stopped halfway to his mouth.

“TORTOISES?”

“And little deer,” Marmaduke added.

“Little deer?”

“And a big aviary.”

Barry looked between his best friend and the adults.

This was clearly an important scientific institution.

“What is an aviary?” he asked.

“A place where birds live,” Alfie explained.

“Like a bird prison?”

“Not exactly.”

“Can they leave?”

“Some might be able to fly around inside it.”

Barry considered this arrangement.

“So it’s a bird hotel.”

“That’s not a bad description,” said Mr Brand.

Mrs Brand gave him a look. “Please don’t encourage the children to start reviewing wildlife facilities.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He paused.

“Although I’d be interested in the room service.”

Marjory Jackson, who was checking the day’s weather on her phone, looked up.

“The reserve is a cute place to visit. We could all go.”

“Excellent,” said Marmaduke. “I shall organise the expedition.”

“You may organise yourself into the car,” said Marjory. “That’s the extent of your authority.”

Marmaduke accepted this temporary restriction on his leadership.

Barry, meanwhile, was already imagining a race between the tortoises.

He had not mentioned this to anyone.

He was learning that some ideas benefited from a little private development before being presented to the public.

By the time the families arrived at the Barbados Wildlife Reserve, the storm had left its mark.

The paths were damp, the leaves glistened, and the air felt fresh and pleasantly cool. The sky was still cloudy in places, but bright patches of sunshine slipped through, lighting up the trees and the magnificent views across the surrounding landscape.

It was beautiful.

Even Mr Brand admitted as much, although he expressed the opinion that a landscape would be even more magnificent if it came with somewhere to sit down and a reliable supply of coffee.

The entrance led into a peaceful woodland environment, with tropical vegetation, winding paths and animals moving about in their indistinct enclosures.

Marmaduke looked delighted.

“Look at all the trees!”

Barry looked at the trees.

Then he looked at a tortoise.

The tortoise was walking very slowly across the ground.

Barry watched it for several seconds.

“It’s not in a hurry.”

“No,” said Alfie.

“Perhaps it doesn’t know where it’s going.”

“Perhaps it does.”

“Perhaps it has forgotten.”

“Barry, it’s a tortoise.”

“Exactly. It could take ages to remember.”

Alfie sighed.

There were moments when having a younger brother was like living with a very small, very persistent documentary narrator who had never encountered a fact he couldn’t improve with speculation.

They moved further into the reserve, admiring the animals and enjoying the cool air.

The little deer were particularly appealing. They moved delicately through the greenery, occasionally pausing to inspect their surroundings.

Marmaduke watched one nibbling at some vegetation.

“It’s so small!”

Barry looked at it carefully.

“It’s smaller than Alfie.”

“Most things are smaller than Alfie,” said Mr Brand.

“I’m not that big,” Alfie protested.

“You’re eight. You’re practically a giant compared with Barry.”

Barry puffed out his chest.

“I’ll be eight one day.”

“Yes,” said Mrs Brand. “And by then, I expect you’ll still be asking questions about whether deer know what day it is.”

Barry looked thoughtful.

“Do they?”

Mrs Brand continued walking.

It was the only sensible response.

The tortoises were the main attraction.

There were several of them, moving around at their own pace, seemingly untroubled by the demands of modern life. They wandered across the ground, explored patches of greenery and occasionally paused as though considering a particularly difficult philosophical question.

Barry was fascinated.

He crouched nearby, keeping a respectful distance.

“Look at that one,” he whispered to Marmaduke.

Marmaduke crouched beside him.

“It’s huge!”

“It’s got a shell.”

“Perhaps it takes its house everywhere.”

“Like a snail?”

“Like a tortoise.”

Barry considered this distinction.

“Does it have a bedroom?”

“I don’t know.”

“A kitchen?”

“Barry, it’s a tortoise.”

“Maybe the kitchen is inside the shell.”

Marmaduke’s eyes widened.

“Then it could make toast anywhere!”

“Not if it hasn’t got electricity.”

The boys looked at each other.

This was a serious engineering problem.

Nearby, one tortoise slowly moved towards a patch of greenery. Another was heading in a different direction, at a speed that suggested it had no particular reason to arrive anywhere before next Thursday.

Barry watched them.

Then he looked at Marmaduke.

Then he looked back at the tortoises.

He had an idea.

It was not a small idea.

It was not a sensible idea.

It was, in fact, an idea of such extraordinary simplicity that it could only have been invented by a four-year-old.

“Let’s have a race.”

Marmaduke stared at him.

“A race?”

“Yes. A tortoise race.”

Marmaduke’s face lit up.

“YES!”

They did not touch the animals. They did not try to pick them up, move them, block their paths or persuade them to go faster. They had been told to respect the animals and leave them alone, and they had no intention of breaking that rule.

Instead, they decided to conduct the race from a safe distance.

They selected two tortoises that were already moving in roughly the same direction and chose a patch of ground as their imaginary finish line.

Barry pointed.

“That one’s yours.”

Marmaduke pointed at the other.

“That one’s mine.”

“Why do I get that one?”

“Because I pointed first.”

“You pointed second.”

“No, I pointed first.”

“You were looking at the deer.”

“I was looking at the tortoise.”

“You were looking at both!”

Marmaduke paused.

This was true.

“Fine. You can have the first one.”

Barry nodded.

“Thank you.”

They had resolved the dispute with remarkable maturity.

For approximately four seconds.

Then Barry announced, “READY, STEADY, GO!”

Both boys leaned forward.

The tortoises continued doing exactly what they had been doing before the race began.

One stopped.

The other turned slightly.

Barry stared.

“It’s cheating.”

Marmaduke frowned.

“How?”

“It’s not going straight.”

“Maybe it wants to win by going round the side.”

“That’s not how racing works!”

“Maybe it is for tortoises!”

Barry had no answer to this.

The race was already more complicated than expected.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Barry announced in a loud whisper. “Welcome to the first-ever Barbados Tortoise Grand Prix!”

Marmaduke immediately joined in.

“THE TORTOISE GRAND PRIX!”

Several visitors looked over.

Mr Brand, who had been admiring the view, turned around.

“What are they doing?”

“Something I suspect we’re going to regret,” Mrs Brand replied.

The boys had positioned themselves near the imaginary finish line, at a respectful distance from the tortoises.

Barry was providing commentary.

“Number One is moving very slowly. He is looking at the grass. He might be hungry.”

Marmaduke cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Number Two is turning left! He’s making a very clever move!”

“It’s not a clever move,” Barry objected. “He’s going the wrong way.”

“Perhaps he’s trying to confuse Number One.”

“Number One doesn’t look confused.”

“That’s because he’s very experienced.”

Barry looked impressed.

The tortoises continued to meander.

One stopped beside a plant.

The other appeared to lose interest in the entire sporting event and wandered away from the proposed course.

Marmaduke gasped.

“HE’S ABANDONING THE RACE!”

Barry nodded gravely.

“This is a terrible day for sport.”

Mr Brand arrived beside them.

“Would someone care to explain why you’re shouting about tortoises?”

Barry looked up.

“We’re having a race.”

“Are the tortoises aware of this?”

The boys glanced at the animals.

“No,” said Marmaduke.

“Have you asked their permission?”

Barry thought about it.

“We didn’t want to disturb them.”

Mr Brand paused.

It was difficult to criticise the boys for respecting wildlife, even when their method of respecting it involved inventing an unauthorised international sporting event.

“Well,” he said, “as long as you keep your distance and don’t interfere with them, you can watch quietly.”

“Can we still do commentary?” Barry asked.

“Quiet commentary.”

Barry nodded.

He turned back to the tortoises.

“Number One is experiencing a strategic pause.”

Marmaduke whispered, “Number Two is thinking about his future.”

Mr Brand looked at his wife.

“I believe we’ve created two sports commentators.”

“Don’t say that too loudly,” Mrs Brand replied. “They’ll want microphones.”

The race continued for several minutes.

This was partly because the tortoises were slow and partly because the boys kept changing the rules.

At one point, Barry declared that the winner would be the first tortoise to reach a particular patch of grass.

Then Marmaduke pointed out that his tortoise was already nearer to that patch.

Barry changed the finish line.

Marmaduke accused him of cheating.

Barry argued that it was not cheating because he was the race organiser.

Marmaduke pointed out that the race organiser should not be allowed to change the rules.

Alfie, who had been watching from behind them, intervened.

“Actually, Marmaduke is right. You can’t change the finish line just because your tortoise is losing.”

Barry stared at him.

“It’s not losing. It’s taking a different route.”

“It’s walking away.”

“That’s called a tactical retreat.”

Alfie folded his arms.

“That’s not what a tactical retreat means.”

“Maybe it is for tortoises.”

Alfie opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

He was beginning to realise that arguing with Barry was a bit like trying to teach a particularly stubborn seagull about tax law.

The seagull might listen.

It might not.

Either way, you would probably end up covered in something unpleasant.

Finally, one of the tortoises reached the patch of greenery the boys had originally chosen as their finish line.

Barry threw both arms into the air.

“WE HAVE A WINNER!”

Marmaduke looked at the tortoise.

Then at the other tortoise.

Then back at Barry.

“That wasn’t my finish line.”

“It’s the finish line now.”

“Barry!”

“It’s a very complicated sport, Marm.”

Marmaduke folded his arms.

“I want a rematch.”

“Fine. Next time, we need a bigger track.”

Mr Brand stepped forward.

“Next time, you can organise a race between two toy cars.”

Barry considered this.

“But toy cars don’t have shells.”

“An unfortunate limitation.”

“And they don’t eat grass.”

“Another drawback.”

“And they don’t take their houses everywhere.”

Mr Brand sighed.

“Perhaps the tortoises are the superior competitors after all.”

After the race, the families continued exploring the reserve.

The big aviary was a particular highlight.

Inside, birds moved among the branches and vegetation, their colours bright against the greenery. Some perched quietly, while others hopped between branches or called to one another.

Barry was immediately interested.

“Do they have a race too?”

“No,” said Mrs Brand.

“Why not?”

“Because we are not organising a race for every animal in Barbados.”

Barry considered this.

“What about the deer?”

“No.”

“The birds?”

“No.”

“The fish?”

“We haven’t seen any fish.”

“But if we do?”

“Still no.”

Marmaduke looked thoughtful.

“Maybe we could have a bird competition.”

Mrs Brand turned to him.

“Marmaduke.”

“Not a race,” he clarified. “A singing competition.”

Mr Brand looked at the birds.

“I’m afraid the birds have already entered, and nobody has agreed on the judging criteria.”

Barry nodded.

“We could be the judges.”

“You could be quiet visitors,” Mrs Brand replied.

This was not nearly as exciting.

Still, there were plenty of birds to watch, and the boys were soon distracted by a particularly colourful one that moved along a branch with considerable confidence.

They watched it hop, flap its wings and disappear behind some leaves.

“Where did it go?” Barry asked.

“It’s probably resting,” Alfie said.

“Maybe it’s gone to its bedroom.”

“Barry, birds don’t have bedrooms.”

“Neither do tortoises, apparently. Everyone’s house arrangements are very confusing.”

Alfie gave up.

There was only so much one older brother could do.

By lunchtime, the family had worked up an appetite.

They headed towards the reserve’s tea room, which was basic in the way that a folding chair is technically furniture.

There were simple tables, straightforward seating and a limited menu. Nobody was likely to confuse it with a luxury hotel restaurant, but it offered refreshments in a pleasant setting.

The views, however, were magnificent.

The landscape stretched away beyond the trees, with lush greenery and distant hills under a sky that was gradually brightening after the storm.

Marjory stood for a moment, taking it all in.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Mrs Brand smiled.

“Absolutely.”

Mr Brand looked towards the tea room.

“I’m sure it is. Do you think they have coffee?”

“They do,” Marjory replied.

“Then it is magnificent.”

The boys sat down, still discussing the tortoise race.

Barry was convinced his tortoise had won.

Marmaduke believed the race had been unfairly administered.

Alfie maintained that the entire event had been conducted without rules, a timetable or any evidence that the participants had consented to compete.

Barry told him that was how most interesting things began.

“Next time,” Marmaduke said, “we should have numbers.”

“And a trophy,” Barry added.

“And a flag,” Marmaduke said.

Barry sat up straight.

“We have a flag!”

He had, of course, brought the flag of Marmaduke Island all the way from England. It was safely packed away, along with his treasure map, and was apparently now being considered for use in an international tortoise sporting event.

Mrs Brand stared at him.

“Please don’t wave that flag at the animals.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Or attach it to anything.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Or use it to mark a racecourse.”

Barry hesitated.

Mrs Brand narrowed her eyes.

“Barry.”

“I was only thinking.”

“That’s what worries me.”

He took a bite of his snack.

Marmaduke leaned towards him.

“When we’re older, we could make a proper tortoise race.”

Barry nodded.

“With a stadium.”

“And a commentator.”

“And medals.”

“And a big sign.”

Alfie looked at them.

“You do realise the tortoises don’t know they’re racing?”

Barry shrugged.

“That’s what makes them such good sportsmen. They don’t get nervous.”

Mr Brand nearly choked on his coffee.

Marjory laughed.

Mrs Brand shook her head.

And the boys, delighted with their own sporting genius, began planning the next edition of the Barbados Tortoise Grand Prix.

It would have a proper finish line.

It would have rules.

It would have a trophy.

And, most importantly, it would involve no touching the animals, no disturbing them and no interfering with their natural behaviour.

They had, after all, learned something important.

You could have an adventure without causing trouble.

You could explore without damaging anything.

And sometimes, the best entertainment in the world was simply watching a tortoise walk slowly across a patch of grass while your best friend explained why it was clearly cheating.

As the family left the reserve, the sun emerged from behind the clouds, illuminating the wet leaves and the beautiful landscape.

Barry took Marmaduke’s hand.

“Best day ever,” he announced.

Marmaduke grinned.

“Tomorrow we should find more animals.”

“Maybe monkeys.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe crocodiles.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe a dinosaur.”

Marmaduke stopped walking.

“Barry. Dinosaurs are extinct.”

Barry looked at him with great seriousness.

“Not all of them.”

Marmaduke’s eyes widened.

“Really?”

Barry nodded.

“Birds.”

Marmaduke thought about this.

Then he grinned.

“Tomorrow, we should organise a bird-singing competition.”

From several paces ahead, Mrs Brand called back, “I heard that!”

The boys exchanged delighted looks.

The expedition was far from over.

And somewhere in the reserve, a tortoise was continuing its peaceful journey across the ground, blissfully unaware that it had just won the first race of its life.

Or possibly lost.

The officials were still arguing about the finish line.