ON HOLIDAY in Brittany last month, I was astonished to read in The Sunday Times that the penguins had been moved out of their world-famous Lubetkin Penguin Pool at London Zoo to a new location and that the pool had, with the introduction of planting, been converted to an alligator enclosure. The move happened apparently when the pool’s maintenance was underway: the penguins were said to be happier in their new surroundings, which had deeper water for swimming and more sympathetic breeding conditions. What had been a temporary location was made permanent. Another advantage, apparently, was easier viewing for children and the disabled — previously blocked, it was said, by the pool’s surrounding wall. The move was made on the 70th anniversary of the pool’s opening in 1934.
Over the past 70 years therefore, none of the current problems had been encountered, which seems strange. According to the Zoological Society’s report when the pool first opened, the penguins immediately took to their home, thrived and bred successfully. The Zoo’s press release, however, explains the anomaly by saying: “Animal management practices have moved on considerably since the Lubetkin Pool was built”. Doubtless this is true enough. One change that has taken place, a spokesperson for the Zoo says, is the species of penguin. Originally they had been Kings, Rock Hoppers and Humbolts, all mixed in together, making no doubt a happy community, but later they were South African Black-Footed Jackasses. Could this be the reason that the penguins’ dissatisfaction with their surroundings didn’t come to light early on?
The pool’s architect was the celebrated Russian, Berthold Lubetkin, who had, after working in Paris for some years, brought modern architecture to this country in 1931, seeing off the dying academicism which had such a grip here. Commissioned to carry out various works at the Zoo on arrival, including the Gorilla House, he collaborated closely with the then director, Julian Huxley, carefully researching the job.
“My father,” Sasha Lubetkin says, “examined every requirement and detail with his customary determination. Nothing was ever overlooked, nothing left to chance. He was totally committed, cared very much for animals. He owned a farm and brought animals from the Zoo there during the war to escape the bombing.”
He was also tremendously inventive. While making sure of all practical points, he created a great work of architecture, unique and inspiring. It was a work of art, a microcosm of the arctic scene — not some conventional enclosure but an idea that would delight children, his chief clients, and stimulate their imagination as they looked down from the long openings left in the surrounding walls. Now, however, without the occupants for whom it was designed, it is a beautiful but meaningless structure.