A beloved, family-run wildlife park in the UK is shutting its gates for good after 17 years, citing spiralling costs, ageing infrastructure, and the long tail of disrupted visitor habits. Keepers are preparing quiet goodbyes. Animals are being matched with new homes. A community is bracing for a last walk among old friends.
The day begins as it always has: wet grass, a keeper’s torch beam, a chorus of birds cutting the grey. A child presses a palm against the glass where a meerkat noses up with pure curiosity. A laminated notice flaps on the board, a little frayed at the corners.
Inside is the sentence no one wanted to read. The park will close permanently after 17 years, the team writes, with gratitude and a hint of ache. Some things feel permanent, right until they aren’t.
By mid-morning, the coffee queue is full of regulars speaking softly, as if at a bedside. The gift shop bell gives its cheery chime anyway. The gates are closing, for good.
Why a cherished park reached the end of the path
Behind the animals and the family photos is a ledger. Feed, electricity, insurance, vet care, licensing, repairs. Each line a promise to keep animals safe. Each month a harder sum.
The owners say the numbers no longer add up, even with volunteers and weekend crowds. After 17 years, the strain grew louder than the dawn chorus.
Talk to anyone who works here and they’ll show you a quiet corner that tells the real story. A freezer room that doubled its bill in a year. A box of fence posts bought in bulk before prices rose again.
A keeper describes booking extra hay for winter, then trimming the order when the quote lands. A long-time member admits their visits slipped after 2020, then never bounced back. Habits changed. The till felt it.
Small wildlife parks live in a tight squeeze. Not giant enough to spread costs across massive footfall. Not tiny enough to run on donations alone. They rely on school trips, rainy-day families, and birthday vouchers.
When those wobble, so does everything else. Energy tariffs took off. Repairs piled into the thousands. New welfare standards asked for upgrades that made sense, yet needed cash up front. The heart wasn’t the issue. The maths was.
How to say goodbye without regrets
There is a way to do a last visit well. Go early. Walk the long route. Make a small ritual: one photo at each enclosure, then write a single line about what you felt. Buy a postcard and jot a thank-you to the keepers.
Ask where help counts. Sometimes it’s a bag of browse for goats. Sometimes it’s leaving a review so their story lives on. On your way out, pick one change for home life—a bird bath, a hedgehog hole in the fence, a pledge to revisit local nature spots.
We’ve all had that moment when we promise to live greener from Monday. Let’s be honest: nobody does that every day. Pick one step and make it easy, not perfect.
Don’t crowd animals for a “last ever” selfie. Don’t pump staff for insider gossip. The team is juggling logistics and emotions. Give them space, then kindness. A kind word at the gate beats a bold post online.
On the way back to the car, pause. This place taught patience, wonder, and the simple joy of watching a lemur sunbathe. That doesn’t vanish when the locks turn.
“Closing a sanctuary isn’t defeat. It’s choosing the animals first.”
- Adopt an animal at a partner sanctuary to fund its transport and care.
- Join a local wildlife group’s weekend survey or litter pick.
- Donate to a reputable rescue network rather than a random link.
- Plant native shrubs and leave a wild patch for pollinators.
- Write your council about protecting green spaces and wildlife corridors.
After the gates shut
What comes next isn’t silence. Trucks will roll in before dawn. Crates will be lined with straw. Animals will travel in careful stages to their new homes, where handlers are waiting with calm voices and familiar feed.
Some staff will move with them. Others will switch to schools, rescue centres, or different zoos. A few will step away for a bit. The site itself may be sold, repurposed, or left to rest.
This ending carries a strange kind of grace. A last act done with care. The old picnic bench will weather; photos will fade; stories won’t. If you’ve ever fed a goat here or lost track of time by the otter pool, you own a small part of its legacy. Share that memory with someone. Watch where it leads.
| Key points | Details | Interest for reader |
|---|---|---|
| Closure after 17 years | Family-run park ends operations due to rising costs and shifting visitor habits | Explains a local loss many feel, sets the emotional stakes |
| Where the animals go | Planned transfers to accredited sanctuaries and zoos, staged over days or weeks | Reassurance about welfare, clarity on what “forever homes” mean |
| How to help now | Smart donations, respectful visits, practical backyard steps for wildlife | Clear, doable actions that matter beyond one park |
| What this says about small parks | Energy, insurance, and compliance pressures meet a post-pandemic attendance dip | Context for a wider trend across community attractions |
FAQ :
- Why is the wildlife park closing?Rising running costs, costly repairs, and a slower return of visitors after 2020 made the model fragile. Compliance and welfare upgrades, while right, added bills the park couldn’t carry long term.
- What will happen to the animals?They’re being matched with accredited sanctuaries and zoos. Moves are planned species by species, with vets overseeing transport. No animal is being euthanised for convenience.
- Can I visit before it closes?Yes, until the final day announced by the park. Check their website or social pages for opening hours and any pre-booking requirements.
- How can I support staff and animal welfare?Buy remaining tickets or merch, donate to the park’s official fund, and back partner sanctuaries receiving animals. If you’re an employer, consider interviewing skilled keepers and maintenance staff.
- What will happen to the site?Options include a sale, redevelopment, or a nature-focused project. Any change will go through planning processes. Local groups are already voicing hopes for green access.
Seventeen years is a lifetime for a small park. Heartbreaking to see it end, but grateful you’re putting animal welfare first. Thank you, keepers—your quiet work mattered more than most of us ever saw. Definitley leaving a review and a donation.