Jimmy Doherty: ‘I saved one polar bear from death – now I have three more'

Telegraph

06-07-2025

It's the hottest day of the year and I'm standing in a field watching a couple of polar bears chomping through heads of lettuce in a grassy pasture. Life can be delightfully unexpected.
No one knows that better than Jimmy Doherty, the man who brought polar bears to Ipswich. 'It's been a fascinating journey,' he says with a grin. 'When I was a kid I used to draw out what my wildlife park would look like. Now we're here. My wife thinks I planned it, but I honestly didn't.'
Doherty became a household name when, after having made appearances on the cookery shows of his childhood friend, Jamie Oliver, he retreated to Suffolk to star in fly-on-the-wall documentary, Jimmy's Farm. The 2004 programme followed the travails of Doherty, his wife Michaela Furney, and life on their rare-breed pig farm.
'I've been through a lot of what Jeremy Clarkson is experiencing,' laughs Doherty. 'If only I knew what I know now when we did Jimmy's Farm.'
Now 50, and slightly more grizzled, though still handsome and charming as ever, Doherty's The Essex Pig Company continues going strong – though nowadays he's better known for bears.
'As our domestic livestock started to build, we began taking in rescues,' explains Doherty. 'There were emus which had been living in someone's shed, and some meerkats. I built a tropical butterfly house from a tomato greenhouse and then we needed a zoo licence.'
Saving Ewa
Ewa, the first polar bear who arrived at Jimmy's Farm And Wildlife Park, in 2023, was the latest addition, following capybaras, a tapir, zebras and monkeys. Yet she presented an enormous challenge.
'We had to build it all right from the start,' explains Doherty. 'It had to be super-secure, and we had to create an environment fit for polar bears in captivity in the modern zoo world.'
Ewa had come from Orsa Predator Park, a few hours drive north of Stockholm. The park had been sold to developers, and keepers had only weeks to find new homes for all the animals. Those who couldn't be rehomed would be euthanised.
'We got a phone call asking if we could help,' says Doherty. 'I thought the whole story was terrible, so I went to see her. It was talking to the rangers there which convinced me. Their lives' work had been dedicated to these animals. They were going to be out of work, but the thing that hurt them was that their animals would be put down – so we found a way.'
Along with Ewa came Diego, a Eurasian brown bear who'd been rescued as an orphan cub and hand-reared. 'It's been a leapfrog from there,' says Doherty. 'We welcomed a pack of 12 Arctic wolves as well. Then we took in Brunhilda, a brown bear from Romania who was a casualty of war.' Three more polar bears – Flocke, Tala and Hope – have joined Ewa, too.
But as we stand alongside Ewa's paddock, sweating in 34C heat, how are the bears faring? In the wild, they would experience temperatures 60 degrees lower.
'They love it,' Doherty assures me. He cites research from Stirling University which compared summer temperatures in Britain to those in Churchill, Canada – 'the Polar bear capital of the world' – and found Canadian summers to be much warmer.
'Alright, the winters aren't as cold,' Doherty concedes. 'But our polar bears don't need ice floes to hunt. Instead, we give them acres and acres of grassland plus six acres of woodland, which they take turns using with the wolves. The dynamic environment they have in there has been incredible for them – the birds nesting, the squirrels: they love to watch it.'
The proof is in Ewa herself. When she arrived in Ipswich, she suffered from stress-related alopecia, displayed nervous behaviours and wouldn't come into season. Two years later, her fur is back, she plays happily with Flocke and Tala, and has returned to her natural cycle.
Treading a new path
No one could doubt Doherty's care for his animals. He talks at length about the personality of each, from the intelligence of honey-obsessed Brunhilda the bear, to Adao – a rescued macaque, who spent his early life being dragged along the beaches in Portugal for tourist selfies and is now a calm trainspotter on the line that passes beside the farm.
'Gone are the days when places like this were all about entertainment,' he explains. 'You see old pictures of chimp tea parties at London Zoo. That's all gone, thank God.'
Having recently hosted the annual gathering of BIAZA (British and Irish Association of Zoos and Aquariums), Doherty has spent a long time reflecting on what the future might look like for zoos, which is shaping up to look like less, but healthier and happier animals.
'We hear people complaining, 'I've come all this way and I can't see anything',' he says. 'I get that. You could fit half of Colchester Zoo just in our bear enclosure. Yes, you have to spend time looking for them but, when you do, nothing beats it. The smell of the animal, the majesty of catching a glimpse. And there are ways to do it: you can make dynamic habitats where animals are prioritised and visitors still get to see them.
'TV documentaries are great, but we sit there 'watching', while we scroll on social media and suddenly the impact has gone,' Doherty argues. 'When you have to make a date, walk around, you become present and aware. You can feel the awe. That's where passion for protecting these animals awakens.'
For the polar bear enclosure, Doherty and his team turned to the Born Free Foundation. Surprisingly, given they advocate for zoos to close and the captivity of animals to end entirely.
'You should never be afraid of anyone who isn't following your way of thought,' he shrugs. 'They'd written about captive polar bears. We looked at all the things they thought were wrong, and put those right. Then we cherry-picked ideas from other wildlife parks: we gave them hills so they can have a line of sight, we installed 16m deep ponds so they can cool off, we gave them open areas with lots of smells so they can feel the change of the seasons.'
Yet, given Born Free advocates for parks like Doherty's to close, isn't there a contradiction?
'Without these organisations, certain species just wouldn't be there,' Doherty explains. 'Look at the Bali starling, for example: it was totally extinct in the wild and now it's back thanks to breeding programmes in zoos. London Zoo saved the partula snail, which had gone extinct in the wild from a few specimens in tubs. The Wētā was saved by Auckland Zoo.'
Doherty gives short-shrift to activists who advocate 'freeing' animals. 'Where are you going to release them?' he snaps. 'The wilderness is hemmed in now. We can increase it, and we can make corridors and link it up, but species are going to disappear in the meantime.'
The future of farming
As we leave Ewa munching on her lettuces, Doherty takes me up to Diego and Brunhilda's den, via some of the rare-breed pigs he has put at the centre of the park, hoping to remind visitors that farming is at the heart of wildlife conservation.
'An interesting thing with veganism has kicked off,' he ponders. 'I watched something with a young person saying, 'We need to end farming' – what are you talking about? That's mad!'
Though he concedes farming has problems, Doherty blames consumers: 'We want things cheap,' he sighs. 'I abhor factory farming but if you've got to make the same thing for half the price, you have to cut corners. That's where the issues creep in.
'A free-range chicken should cost about £12, factoring in rearing, feed, water, overheads, staff, butchery, processing, packaging and transport. Yet no one questions a £4 pair of chicken breasts,' he moans. 'A 25kg bag of chicken feed is £6.50, so how does that add up?
'We're all eating too much and we all want it 24/7. Blaming farming is a simplistic response,' he says. 'We'll rue the day we forget farmers. One shock and we see how important they are to our national security. The Government treats farming like any other industry at their peril.'
Doherty takes these issues personally. Though he might find plenty to disagree with some activists about ('If there's a vegan farm that is entirely environmentally friendly and feeds a substantial population, then I'll buy into it,' he quips), he's a keen environmentalist, having studied with Joel Salatin, the father of regenerative agriculture.
'Farmers maintain the countryside, they're the ones in charge of conservation,' Doherty believes. 'The government should be yelling from the rooftops that not only do farmers maintain the health of our country by producing good, healthy foods – they are extremely good at what they do – but also the services they provide: the fresh air, the good water.'
Here, Doherty lights up as he launches into an explanation of how cow-pats are responsible for sustaining ecosystems of flies and larvae, which feed birds and regenerate the soil.
'The basic principle of the farm is that it copies nature and the relationship between plants and animals,' Doherty explains. 'Did you know, in New Zealand, two thirds of their biodiversity only exists on sheep and cattle farms? People talk about rewilding all our fields, but who is going to pay for that? You have to manage that, you can't just let it go wild. There's this weird misconception that nature is bountiful beyond reason.'
I mention an interview Doherty did with The Telegraph back in 2008, where he said ''It's about time we took a positive view about the state of farming in this country. All you see in the press is bad news' and wonder if he still thinks that?
'I think the views on farming have changed for the better,' Doherty says. 'People are gradually becoming more supportive of farmers. Clarkson's Farm has been good: Jeremy makes it funny for people. He demonstrates the red tape and the costs. Countryfile is also great – no programme has done more, for as long, to highlight the issues facing farmers.
'Yes, you get critics – I remember a TV executive saying, 'I don't eat dairy because it's really cruel'. I mean, it's the most efficient way of producing protein per acre, but if you're saying all dairy farmers are evil, that's like saying all TV commissioners are stupid.' He chuckles. 'They're not. There's about seven people who decide what's on TV for the whole country, and they rarely venture beyond the M25, that is true. But it's easy to generalise.'
Aged 27 when he started farming, Doherty is enthusiastic about the way that young farmers have used social media to show the joys of farm life to a new generation. Though the cost of land has steadily risen, he still thinks the farming dream is accessible for young people.
'If you want to set up an arable farm, you have to be Clarkson or inherit it, there's no doubt about that,' Doherty says. 'That being said, you can rent – we still rent as tenant farmers. My business model didn't need prime arable land, we needed rough areas to keep pigs and we slowly built it from there. It was tough, but it's definitely possible for those with a can-do attitude. Luckily, most people who want to get into farming have that in spades.'
As we lean against the fence, watching brown bear Brunhilda relax by her pond, it strikes me that Doherty is living proof of it. A can-do attitude, relentless passion for wildlife, and an open mind have brought the unexpected to life – and it's a wonder to behold.