A FARMERS' DAY
By A. G. STREET IN common with most countryfolk I have always looked upon rural sport as the natural amusement of those who live and work in the country, and, as a farmer's son, I acquired the necessary proficiency in certain branches of it in the oldest university of all, the university of country life. My teachers were second to none, although few of them had any qualifications in the cus- tothary forms of scholarship. Landlord, farmer, labourer, keeper, huntsman,- groom, poacher and many others helped with my education, and I sincerely hope the result has justified the care which they took with me many years ago. Anyway. I am grateful to them all, for their efforts have enabled me to enjoy Many happy days of hunting, fishing and shooting: But recently the farmer has been compelled to give these pleasurable things a miss, and much of the sport which he used to enjoy, all in his day's work so to speak, has been enjoyed by towns- folk. Sporting rights were worth money, and the country- side was so poor that it was forced to sell them to the rich town. Consequently, for several years now, like the majority of farmers, I have only taken my gun down from the wall in order to kill vermin or to bag a dinner.
However, the other day a neighbour invited me to go shooting. Apparently the shooting-tenant had given up his shooting, and he had decided to keep it himself, at any rate. for one year. Whether this may be taken as a sign that farming has turned the corner or not I cannot say, but it did recall to Me the glories of days. gone by. Any- how, next day at 10 a.m. I found myself walking along a narrow track through a large wood, in' company with my host and four Or five friends. At. the boundary we found his sons and beaters in readiness, and the subse- quent campaign was carried out in the form of a. letter L— the beaters being the upright stroke, the guests the short horizontal one, and the little tail to the rear of the junc- tion of these being represented by our host; according to ancient eustom. "Keep your eyes well open for deer," was his final injunction, as he gave the word to proceed. Then, With shouts and clatter the beaters started, and I dawdled- along the ride ahead of them, keeping my proper distance from the gun on either side of me.. And suddenly I was conscious, not only that shooting was a pleasurable thing, but also that it was a natural part of farming life. Overhead the pale December sun shone in a limpid blue sky. The trees around were bare, but the undergrowth was a thick mass of bracken and brambles, for, as in most large woods, clearing this is a job which, perforce, has been neglected for many seasons. I listened to the beaters enjoying themselves, even though the going was bad. That they were doing this I knew, for most of them were my intimate friends, and to farm labourers, between beating for a town shooting-tenant and beating for their own employer lies a world of difference.
"Hi, hi, hi ! " they shouted. Then suddenly : "Wood- cock over On the right." Then, "Over back ! " came a yell, and I turned to watch my host take him neatly with his first barrel; again, in his case, according to ancient custom. " Forrad on. 'Ec'in all right yon. The Guvner done 'is little bit o' bizniss proper."
History seemed suddenly to have gone back twenty- odd years, and here was I taking part in it. Forgotten were business cares and every worry connected with the world which existed outside this patch of brown December woodland. The only worries I possessed were, firstly, would anything come my way ; and, secondly, should I disgrace myself if it did ? Besides, just supposing there was a deer ! Here and there a pheasant got up. Some were accounted for by our host's sons, who were struggling through the dense undergrowth with the beaters. Others whirled away to the right over the line of guns, some falling, and others escaping in beautiful sweeps into the security of the woods below ; but aS yet none had come near enough for me to be forced to test my skill.
Then suddenly there was a yell "Pheasant over on the right !." And I could see a cock coming fast in a nasty Swerve which would being him ,straight over me. So quickly he came that I had no time either to aim or to think. -My gun went up by its own volition, swung naturally, ,and, without my being Conscious of pulling the tugger, I saw the bird crtiMple up and fall with a bump behind me. "And that's all right," I muttered, as I reloaded quickly, `, A good -start's half the battle." This proved to be correct. Had I missed that first bird, most probably I should have continued to miss, spending most of the day in search of the correct formula of hand and eye and swing ; but, as it was, I do not remember ever shooting better.
There were some wild deer in the wood. I decided to watch carefully for any movement in the undergrowth. Presently, during a short halt while a bird was being picked up, I fancied I saw something move in the bracken. I watched the spot intently, and was rewarded with a momentary glimpse of a deer's head. When the beaters started again I waited with itching fingers. Two shots in rapid succession from the beaters' line caused something to rush forward towards me, and then, within twenty yards' range, I saw •a deer flash between two clumps of hazel. It was safe to shoot, as the beaters were well to the rear, and the deer went head over heels.
I called to our host that I thought I had bagged a deer, and he ordered the beaters to halt, while he and I pushed our way through the bracken. Just as we arrived to where we could see the dead deer, his retriever rushed forward and tried to retrieve the animal just as though it had been a hare. Never have I seen anything quite so comic. He is a dear dog in many ways, but an awful fool, and most probably he would have done just the same if it had been a tiger lying there. We hauled the deer out on to the ride, soon had it hung up to a tree in the approved style, and then the beaters proceeded once more. And so that golden December day went out. It was not a swell shoot ; it cannot be described as a good..shoot ; it was just a farmers' day. The guns were farmers, and the beaters, with the exception of a retired policeman who had joined in the fun, farm labourers. We limehed simply in a sunny, squelchy track, during which we talked farming and chaffed each other unmercifully. The bag broke no records, consisting of but twenty-odd pheasants, a few hares and rabbits, two jays, three wood- cock, one pigeon and two deer, for we bagged another of these after luncheon. At dusk we piled into the motor lorry which is usually filled with milk churns, and returned to our host's farmhouse, where, tired and happy, we did full justice to a most excellent tea.
Such is a farmers' day, and in that particular one three things stand out in my mind. Firstly, a personal satis- faction that I have not forgotten how to shoot moderately decently ; secondly, that wild deer have greatly increased " during recent years ; and thirdly, that for countryfolk to shoot their own countryside is right somehow, besides being jolly good fan, Some people will perhaps call us barbarians and clods for taking our pleasure in this fashion, but I for one will not mind ; for, in doing so, they will tell- me that they have never been fortunate enough to participate in a real farmers' day. And for this reason their criticism is valueless.
Previous page
