We present an extract from Wild Thing, the new memoir by Randal Plunkett.
At the age of 28, Randal Plunkett inherited the title of Baron Dunsany, alongside Dunsany Castle and the 1,600-acre estate. A reluctant aristocrat, Randall had a vision of Dunsany given back to nature. Now, nature runs wild on grounds his ancestors farmed for centuries. Wild Thing is a memoir-with-a-mission, showcasing how this poisoned chalice – a cold, leaky, needy castle, with all the responsibilities to the generations before – became a personal journey toward fulfilment, a vital mission toward a better, more sustainable, future, and a call to arms for the environment, and the people who live among it.
It was late spring – the evenings were getting bright – and I was doing my usual walk around the land. The long grass had grown high enough to reach my shoulders and beyond; drying seeds brushed my lips as I walked through it. It was warm and the air felt good against my skin.
Dunsany Estate, my home, looked so different now. The once-grazed farmland was almost unrecognisable. Tones of yellow and green glowed in the warm sun. The barbed-wire fences were engulfed by tall thistles and nettles. Soon they'd vanish completely under a green blanket. It had been three years since the last farm animal had been here. Nature was taking over, with grass growing tall, flowering and going to seed, wild flowers blossoming and the land asserting itself and gaining confidence.
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Listen: Randall Plunkett talks to Ray D'Arcy
I turned a corner, following a small dirt track from grassland into a wooded area with redwoods and Douglas firs, and within it a clearing. In the centre, a ghostly dead tree loomed, its component parts gradually crumbling and returning to the soil from which they’d come, the rotting wood already supporting an abundance of fungi, moss and lichens. Here, the sunlight dappled through the cover overhead and onto the shorter growth beneath the trees. The shafts of light, hitting the ground obliquely, seemed to move as insects swooped and swirled in the air. It was mesmerising.
Millions of insects were buzzing, tornadoes of them spiralling in the yellow light of the evening; hundreds of birds were chirruping, singing and batting their wings, the bushes and undergrowth were rustling as unseen creatures moved through them. Just a few years before, the only birds we’d heard were crows, cawing and cackling as they wheeled through the sky above Dunsany Castle and its ruined church. I used to romanticise their sounds: they were trumpets of death, calling me, reminding me that I was fighting against the tide, fighting a pointless battle I’d never win. They were nature, mocking me and laughing at all the history I carried on my back. But today, instead of their doom-chimes, an orchestra of songbirds sang from the trees, the sky and the long grasses. The entire world seemed to be humming.
I’d walked around these lands hundreds – thousands? – of times before, but I didn’t remember it ever having been as loud as this. With no castle, no house and no electricity pylons in sight, I might have voyaged back in time to an era before human activity changed everything. In that moment, I felt like the only person in the world.
Then, just a few metres away, the tall grass started to move. I turned to look and found myself face to face with a small group of native red deer: a young male without antlers – red deer shed theirs in the spring and grow new ones – and three does. They were just standing there, almost as still as statues, watching me.
I stopped. We all looked at each other for what felt like a long time. Their large, dark eyes contemplated me. My breath slowed, and so did theirs.
There are hundreds of deer in Dunsany, and there’s certainly nothing unusual about meeting one on a walk. But this time, it was different. Usually they saw me and ran away. Usually I didn’t pay them all that much attention. But this time, they seemed . . . unafraid. The young male looked at me with what appeared to be a keen interest. His eyes gazed straight into mine and he remained completely still, other than flicking his ears and tail when the insects bothered him. For the first time, I noticed that the deer themselves were covered with living creatures, insects that appeared to be hovering above them and jumping in and out of their fur: deer flies, horse flies and who knew what else.
There we stood as the sun started to set. Its yellow rays slanted onto the animals’ brown coats, surrounding them with a nimbus of gold. They slanted onto me, too; I could feel the heat from the sun warming me through my black clothes. Suddenly, I felt as though I was seeing the deer, and beyond them Dunsany estate – my home – and beyond that all of nature itself, for the very first time. As though I’d opened myself up and let the essential wildness of Ireland come in.
I rarely feel proud of myself. Why should I? I’ve never done anything special. I don’t have any special talent or gifts. All I ever had was privilege, albeit accompanied by many caveats. I’d lived with a constant state of imposter syndrome because I was a regular underachiever. Despite all this, in that moment, I let a little pride manifest, mixed with wonder. I’ve helped to do this, I thought. I’ve created space for them. I’ve made a place where they’re safe. I’ve stood up for victims with no voice: these animals, which have been persecuted by us for so long.
The spell broke and the deer started to move, turning and leaping through the tall grass and into the forested area behind them. Before they disappeared from view, the stag turned and looked back at me, still unafraid, as though he was saying goodbye, or so long, see you later.
And, just like that, just like the moment when you realised you’ve fallen in love with someone special, my purpose in life was revealed: I couldn’t save all of nature, but I could do my best with the little bit with which I’ve been entrusted. It was, in an absolutely real sense, the beginning of the rest of my life. From then on, I knew that the rewilding of Dunsany wasn’t just a pipe dream, but my life’s work.
Wild Thing is published by Bonnier Books
