The Roar on Plough Hill: The Short Life of Nuneaton Zoological Gardens
In the gritty, industrial landscape of Hartshill during the late 1960s, a resident putting their milk bottles out for the evening generally expected to hear the familiar rumble of the colliery or the rhythmic blast of a quarry siren. One certainly did not expect to hear the haunting, territorial roar of an African lion echoing across the valley. Yet, for five wild years, this was the surreal reality on Plough Hill Road.
The Architect of the Jungle The story began in November 1967 at Number 89 Plough Hill Road. While most neighbours were busy planting marigolds or tending to their vegetable patches, resident Tony Delves—a local builder with a wild ambition—set a plan in motion that would turn his semi-detached home into the most exotic and controversial address in the county. He applied to the council for permission to turn his 3.5-acre back garden into a fully functioning zoo. Amazingly, the authorities granted the request, and the Nuneaton Zoological Gardens was born.
1968: The Jungle Awakens Opening to the public in the Spring of 1968, the site was far more than a simple pet’s corner. Delves was a serious importer of exotic wildlife, and his garden served as both a quarantine station and a menagerie. The jungle awakened first with the primates: a chimpanzee named “Judy” arrived that year, followed closely by a troop of Woolly monkeys. Soon, their rainforest calls began to drift over the fences, mixing strangely with the grinding gears of passing coal lorries. The collection grew through unusual trades, including a Llama that arrived from Glasgow Zoo as a straight swap for several Pelicans and Toucans.
1969: Seals and the Kings of the Ridge By 1969, the ambition at Number 89 escalated. In April, Delves excavated a deep concrete pool directly into the Warwickshire clay to house four Californian Seals. In a landlocked mining village, the barking of seals and the splash of salt water became the bizarre background noise for neighbours sitting down to watch Coronation Street.
However, the stakes were truly raised in October 1969 with the arrival of the kings of the ridge: a lion named “Simba,” eventually joined by three cubs. The barrier between the ordinary and the wild grew terrifyingly thin, with little more than a wire fence separating a neighbour’s washing line from a pride of apex predators.
1971–1972: A Local Phenomenon As the zoo entered the 1970s, it reached its peak. For the local children, it was pure magic; by 1971, they could queue on the pavement, pay a 15-pence entry fee, and squeeze through a side gate to stand face-to-face with creatures they had only ever seen on TV.
For the adults, the sentiment was less magical. A residents’ committee fought a constant battle against the traffic, the “animal escapes,” and the visceral smell of sawdust and raw meat that had replaced the scent of industry. Despite the friction, the menagerie continued to expand. In May 1972, a Malay Honey Bear and three Pumas (purchased from Chester Zoo) arrived, bringing the collection to a level that rivalled many city zoos.
The End of an Era The dream began to unravel in October 1972. In a dramatic turn, HM Customs and Excise sought to seize “Judy” the Chimp, claiming she had been imported without a license years earlier. Delves lost the case, and although records are silent on Judy’s ultimate fate, the legal defeat marked the beginning of the end.
Between the mounting legal fees, the tightening safety regulations, and the immense cost of feeding lions in a residential street, the zoo became unsustainable. It closed its doors in 1973, and the silence returned to Plough Hill.
The Aftermath In 1975, the property was put on the market for £50,000. The estate agent’s listing read: “4 Bedroomed House on 3 1/2 acres… with a Zoo set up for Monkeys, Big Cats, Seal Pool, and a Flamingo Pit.”
Tony Delves was rumoured to have moved to either the Philippines or South Africa, leaving behind only the concrete remnants of his ambition. Today, Number 89 is a quiet family home again, but it remains the only garden in the Midlands that was once walked by lions, seals, pumas, and bears.
