The lion who lived in our flat: The incredible story of the flatmates who raised a cub

By Anthony Bourke and John Rendell
Last updated at 12:52 AM on 14th March 2009

The extraordinary footage of an enormous lion running to greet two men with hugs and licks in the African wilderness has become one of the most popular videos on YouTube – notching up an amazing 44 million hits.



Filmed in 1971, the scene showed the emotional reunion between Christian the lion and the two men who had raised him before releasing him into the wild.

Anthony 'Ace' Bourke and John Rendell tell their remarkable story of the lion cub bought from Harrods and raised in London's King's Road in their book: A Lion Called Christian...

We were two young travellers from Australia who had just arrived in London. It was November 1969 and, one day, in an unusual burst of enthusiasm for sightseeing, we visited the Tower of London.

A suitable contrast, we then decided, would be our first visit to Harrods. Wandering into Harrods, we discovered, incredibly, that there was a zoo on the second floor, where we found two lion cubs in a small cage. The female snarled in an alarming manner, but her brother pretended none of the shoppers existed.

He was irresistible, and we sat, enchanted, beside their cage for hours. A curious excitement began to grow. Even if it was only for a couple of months, surely we could offer him a better life than this, and try to ensure a better future for him?

Neither of us had ever dreamed of owning an exotic pet, but he was completely irresistible. Suddenly our lives seemed to be incomplete without a lion cub. He was for sale at 250 guineas, equivalent to £3,500 in today's money. This was a vast sum to us, but we nonchalantly agreed that it seemed a very reasonable price.

Harrods staff were interviewing prospective owners – they did not want the lions to fall into irresponsible hands – so the next morning we returned, wearing tweed sports coats and looking far more respectable, and we somehow managed to convince the staff that we would be responsible foster parents for a lion.

We shared a small flat on the King's Road in Chelsea, above the furniture shop where we both worked, and we were able to persuade the owners of the shop that their business really needed a lion cub living on the premises – particularly as the shop was called Sophisticat.

On 15 December 1969, we received a telephone call to say we could collect Christian a few days early – during the night, he and his sister had escaped into the adjoining carpet department and destroyed some goatskin rugs that were part of a Christmas display.

We collected Christian the next day, walking him out through the staff exit on a lead. The staff waved goodbye, no doubt relieved their responsibilities were over. With Christian sitting majestically on the back seat of the car, we drove off to our home on the King's Road, extremely happy, but also nervously excited.

In Sophisticat, Christian padded around investigating everything, cleverly evading all the hands that tentatively and incredulously reached down to pat him. He seemed only mildly disorientated, and we stayed up most of the night playing with him.

Within two days, Christian seemed to have fully adjusted to his new surroundings. Any initial inhibitions had vanished, and the teddy bear we had bought him for company was already in a million pieces.

Now four months old, 30lb, and about two feet long, he was himself a larger-than life teddy bear. He loved being carried and cuddled, and his paws would gently reach round our necks and his tongue would lick our faces.

He had soft, tawny-coloured fur. But it was his beautiful, round, rust-coloured eyes that dominated his appearance. He had a delightful, placid nature, and was even house-trained, using a giant lionsized kitty litter tray.

His day began about 8am, when one of us came downstairs to the vast basement where he slept. Often he had to be woken, and a sleepy little lion would affectionately greet us, and walk unsteadily over to squat on his tray.

Then it was time to be fed. His first and last meals of the day were a mixture of baby foods: Complan, Farex, and milk, with drops for additional vitamins.

Two main meals, given to him late in the morning and in the early evening, consisted of raw meat, egg and bone meal. We varied the meat and sometimes gave him an unskinned rabbit. He would carry the skin around the shop for days until it finally disintegrated.

He was inexhaustibly playful and had a variety of toys scattered all over the floor. Wastepaper baskets were a favourite, first to be worn on the head, totally obscuring his sight, and then to be ripped apart.

We had to buy him hardy toys, for the average life of a normal teddy bear was about two minutes. He looked forward each morning to the arrival of Kay, the cleaner, for he was certain that she had been provided for his enjoyment.

He chased her brooms, rode on the vacuum cleaner, and stole or ate her dusters. He demanded our constant attention and it was impossible to ignore him. If one of us was reading a newspaper, or on the telephone, Christian would immediately climb up on to his lap.

Hiding behind the furniture in the shop, he would charge and leap at us. We developed a habit of glancing nervously over our shoulders. If we caught him frozen in a crouched position, with intent mischievous eyes, he would nonchalantly pretend to clean his paws, rather irritated that his fun had been spoiled, for the game was to stalk and catch us unawares. Usually, we could predict what his intentions were from the expression in his eyes.

Each day, we took him for walks in nearby walled gardens, owned by a church whose vicar had given us permission.

Late in the afternoon, Christian would sit regally on the furniture in the shop window, watching the activities of our part of Chelsea. He was the area's star attraction, and the locals loved him.

Christian grew very quickly. Within two months, the beginnings of a mane developed and he suddenly looked quite adult. It was unfair to expect innocent customers to cope with the experience of being sprung upon from behind a chest of drawers and clasped around their thighs by a lion's huge paws.

He instinctively identified those who were frightened, and he enjoyed teasing them. Actresses Diana Rigg and Mia Farrow, customers at Sophisticat, loved to play with him.

Christian was often invited to visit friends with us, and occasionally we took him. On one visit, Christian pushed open a bathroom door, and we ran up when we heard a loud scream. It was difficult to know who was more frightened, Christian or the woman friend in the bath that he had disturbed.

People contacted us about wanting to use Christian for various promotional purposes.

He did a photo shoot for Vanity Fair magazine. It was easy work, for he was just required to lie on a bed with a model and be photographed. Christian enjoyed chewing hair, and the model had masses of it. He planned to pounce, and she became rather frightened, and was heard to say, 'My face is my fortune!' Restrained, Christian bit a hole in the goatskin bedspread and destroyed two satin pillows, instead.

Then, Jack de Manio, presenter of Radio 4's Today programme, invited Christian on his show. A car was sent at 6.30am and the three of us were driven to Broadcasting House. When we arrived, the commissionaire blocked our entry to the building and, scarcely glancing at what was on the end of the lead, challenged, 'No dogs allowed in here – it's the regulations.' 'Do your regulations extend to lions?' we asked.

People do not argue with lions, and as we strode past him into the building he nimbly jumped aside. Christian was far too interested in investigating the paraphernalia in the radio studio and looking at the faces pressed against the studio windows to even consider making any lion-like noises in his interview. We spoke briefly on his behalf, but the caption in the following day's Daily Mail read: Mike-shy Christian flops on radio

By April 1970, Christian was bored. He was eight months old and rapidly outgrowing Sophisticat. Life seemed to contain very few surprises for him. He was irritated that he had outgrown his favourite sitting spot on the stairs. His size was beginning to frighten customers away.

George Lazenby, the actor of 007 fame, came to visit with a friend of ours one afternoon. Christian was sitting in the window and even George could not be persuaded to enter the shop.

Only once were we ever frightened of Christian. He found a fur belt that had dropped off a coat, and ran down with it into the basement. We followed him to retrieve it. He was chewing the belt and making excited sucking sounds. We tried to take it from him, but he flattened his ears and snarled a ferocious warning.

He was an unrecognisable, wild animal. Undoubtedly, he would have attacked us if we had tried again to take the belt from him. We slowly moved a few yards away. After about five minutes his excitement over the belt, and his anger, subsided.

But the question of his future, which had hung over us from the very beginning, now inescapably confronted us. To send him to a zoo would have been like a betrayal.

Then, one afternoon, the actor Bill Travers came into the shop, and was soon joined by his wife, actress Virginia McKenna. They had starred together in the film Born Free, the story of Elsa the lioness, who had been returned to the wild by Joy and George Adamson, the wildlife conservationists.

They were only shopping for a pine desk, but we were unable to resist the opportunity of introducing them to Christian. They were astonished to see a lion run towards us and greet us affectionately.

We talked about Christian's life with us, and they understood our dilemma about his future. Later, Bill returned and said, 'I think we can help you solve the problem of Christian's future. We would like to arrange for him to be flown out to Africa, where George Adamson can return him to the wild.'

We did not have to be persuaded. But our main worry was that Christian, who had led such an unnatural life, was so domesticated that rehabilitation would be impossible. But George had assured Bill that Christian was still very young.

George intended to create a pride of lions, incorporating Christian, which would live together in the wilds of Kenya. We were to accompany our lion there, and help him adjust to his new life. So, in the summer of 1970, Christian left the King's Road and London for ever.

He was fed mild tranquillisers in pieces of meat to calm him for his 15-hour journey,and was transported in a specially designed crate for the flight to Nairobi.

We landed at 7am, and George was there to greet us. We let a tired-looking Christian out of his crate, and he greeted us affectionately. Several days later, when he had recovered from his flight, we made the 200-mile journey to his new home in Kora, a desolate region of Kenya.

When we stopped and camped, Christian behaved like the worst tourist, avoiding the sun and lolling on our camp beds at every opportunity. At Kora, he met the two other lions who would be part of his pride, Katania and Boy, and together they were given their freedom, which tempered our sadness at leaving him.

Life would be very empty without him, and tears were shed. We wondered if we would ever see him again, but Christian had returned to where he belonged.

We went back to London, hearing frequently from George about Christian's progress in the wild. Then, in July 1971, we returned, anxious to see Christian. George took us to the area where our lion and his pride had been spotted that morning.

We saw Christian about 75 yards away from us. He stared hard at us for a few seconds, and then slowly moved closer for a good look. We called to him. He immediately started to run towards us. Grunting with excitement, this enormous lion jumped all over us, but he was very gentle. We were crying; George was crying. Soon we had three lionesses milling around us as his friends came to say hello.

We know people expect us to have been frightened, but we had no fear of Christian – and he had run towards us with a loving expression we knew so well. Those few days were a euphoric experience.

We were woken by Christian's roars each morning, and spent the next few days walking with him or sitting with him in the shade. Then it was time to leave. We were obviously sad to say goodbye to Christian, but he was clearly contented, and everything seemed to be going well.

When we left and our small plane circled the camp, Christian and the other lions looked up from Kora Rock and, as we waved back to George in the compound, we shed a few quiet tears.

Two years later, Christian crossed the Tana River, heading towards the rich hunting ground of Meru National Park. He was never seen again. For the next few years we waited for any news. We liked to imagine that he had established a territory and pride of his own a long way away. We hope that he lived for another ten years or so, and that his descendants are hunting in Kenya today.

We don't know who placed the footage of our reunion on the internet, but, with the YouTube-induced revival of interest in Christian, we have enjoyed reliving our time with him, looking at photos, falling in love with him all over again, and missing him.

Extracted and adapted from A Lion Called Christian by Anthony Bourke and John Rendell, to be published by Bantam Press on 26 March at £12.99. © 2009, Anthony Bourke and John Rendell. To order a copy (p&p free), tel: 0845 155 0720.

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