Pheasants, etc

As we fast approach the end of yet another shooting season and,once again, the fields and woods will fall silent until it all starts again in the autumn it occurred to me just how much things have changed in the shooting world.

Today many shoots are run on a business basis which means the guns pay to shoot and the payment is calculated by the bird shot. So, what this means is, for example, if a group of guns buy a two hundred bird day it will cost £8,000 based upon a figure of £40 per bird. On average there are ten guns so the day costs each of them £800. Well, actually, it works out at a bit more than that as it is the custom to tip the gamekeeper at the end of the day and I am reliably informed that the expected tip from each gun is £50. Apart from the day's sport each gun has his gun cleaned at the end of the day and takes home a brace of pheasants, two birds. That, for the most part, is how things are done in the modern shooting field. When one considers that some shoots are shooting six days a week one begins to get an idea of the scale of the business. Not only is it a huge part of the rural economy but shooting produces sales in terms of clothing, ammunition, hospitality and so on. But most of all it produces huge numbers of pheasants and, to a lesser degree, partridges and duck. 

To go back to a former age most shoots were conducted by landowners for the benefit of themselves and their friends, numbers of birds were not the main consideration as profit was not the aim, quite simply sport was the most important element. Good high and testing birds were the order of the day, numbers would then have been considered to be of less importance and for a gentleman to complain about the number of birds would have been considered wholly inappropriate, just not the done thing. 

Of course it is also the case that the people who shoot, and can afford to do so, have also changed. Once the members of a shooting party would, almost exclusively, have been members of the landed gentry, nobility and generally the great and the good. Today the mix is far more diverse. Yes, there are still a fair sprinkling of the above groups to be found but also lots of small business men, pop stars, film stars,bankers, hedge fund managers, builders and all manner of other people. Some of the behaviour one sees in the modern shooting party would not have been seen, let alone tolerated, in earlier times. Of course, as might be expected many of the people from these groups are not country people but come from the towns and cities to shoot. Good manners were always expected of the guns and it was the norm for the guns to express their thanks to the beaters at the end of each day. They always said good morning and expressed their delight when things went well. Sadly, that is no longer the norm, many modern guns will walk past the beating line as though the beaters were not there and not a word is exchanged. In fact, I heard, only the other day of a shoot somewhere in mid Dorset where, so called, pop and film stars shoot, where the gamekeeper tells the beaters that they are not to engage in conversation with the guns, they are not to look at the guns and generally must be seen and not heard. 

Frankly, I don't understand why anyone would bother to go there. If I were confronted with such a situation I would tell the keeper in no uncertain terms that I was at the wrong place and the guns could go beat for themselves. Fortunately, this behaviour is the exception and not the rule. But, in general terms, "old money" is much more user friendly having been brought up in a manner which respects tradition and is fully conversant with good manners and etiquette. 

Undoubtedly, alcohol and drinking have always had a place in the shooting field. It is traditional to have a nip of something before the day begins, usually sloe gin. It is also perfectly normal for members of the shoot to carry a hip flask in order to have the odd swig during the day, especially in cold weather. Also the odd port or glass of wine at lunch has always been acceptable and added to the delight of the day.Unfortunately many modern guns seem to have the idea that a key component of the day is to get … well, ratted, to use a modern term. I strongly believe guns and booze do not mix and it is high time keepers started sending people home when they have gone over the top with drink. If they want to have a drinking session that should be done at the end of the day and not at lunch time. However, all is not lost, I notice increasingly that shoots are beginning to "shoot through", what this means is they don't stop for lunch. They do all of the shooting for the day and lunch at the end. A much better idea as, quite apart from the drinking aspect, it also means the beaters get home earlier as they are not sitting around for nearly a couple of hours whilst the group of guns enjoy a longish lunch. 

Long may the shooting traditions continue but, if they are to some taking stock will have to occur and good behaviour and good manners will have to be at the heart of any such considerations. 

Christmas

It has been many moons since I last wrote about Christmas in Kingsley and, I suspect,new people have moved into the village and others will have departed. So it might be of interest to those who did not read the original article to be able to compare todays Christmas in Kingsley with how it was sixty odd years ago. 

In those days Kingsley had a school, a shop, a post office and, of course, the dear old Cricketers. It also had a second pub, the New Inn, at the eastern end of the village near Sleaford. As with most villages then and, I suppose to some extent now, the three main institutions which were responsible, in various measure, for village activities were the Church, the pub and the school. This was particularly so at Christmas. Before breaking up for the Christmas holiday the school would have been involved with the Church in putting on the Nativity play which took place in the church and also the Christmas Bazaar both popular events. 

A short while before Christmas, usually on a Friday evening, the Cricketers would be the place to go when it paid out the Thrift Club monies to all whom had been a part of that scheme and taken the opportunity to put a few pounds away for the festive season. 

In general terms people did not decorate their homes and gardens in the same way as today. Decorations were for indoors and, of course, electric lights were not available as they are now. Christmas trees were then lit with small candles which fitted into little holders which clipped to the trees branches. I can't imagine anything like that being sold today, just consider the Health and Safety police, they would have a field day. It is worth saying that I don't ever recall anyone burning down their house as a result candles. 

The tree, as far as our household was concerned was sourced locally. By that I mean it was obtained from either the common or Alice Holt forest. The trees on the common were firs with the large needles and a grey–blue colour. In those days there were a lot of firs all over the common which I guess were self seeders as they had not been planted in any order. The trees in Alice Holt were the finer spruce type with much shorter and many more needles. When I say they were sourced locally, they were actually stolen. It was common practice for villagers to go out and cut a tree down, often under the cover of darkness, having made their selection in daylight. Given that we had a village policeman living in the community, this matter had to be dealt with,with some care. The local newspapers would begin announcing, several weeks before Christmas, that tree patrols had begun in Alice Holt forest and anyone caught stealing trees would face the full force of the law. I, from quite a young age, took it upon myself to be the provider of our family tree. I preferred the forest type of spruce so I would take the opportunity of selecting my tree whilst wandering in the woods with a pair of binoculars and notebook consistent with a bird watching trip. Having selected the tree I would wait until there was a wet and windy evening. Then at around eight o'clock I would take a circuitous route to the trees location, cut it down and return by a different route. Never, over many years, did I ever encounter one of the much publicised tree patrols. or, indeed the policeman.

Christmas eve in Kingsley was usually spent in the Cricketers and followed by the midnight service in The Old Church, as it was then commonly known. I refer, of course, to St Nicolas church just up from Bakers corner. People walked to the church in those days and having been in the pub for the evening many of the walkers were in merry mood and conversation was energetic and covered a wide range of topics. The merriment was replicated during the church service and it would become fairly clear which of the congregation had availed themselves of the fine ales for which the area was noted. Alton in those days was a centre of brewing and the home of Courage ales. The cricketer contingent were always the loudest singers and took to the task with great gusto. I don't suppose the vicar ever encountered such dedicated songsters at any other time of the year. It was also the case that many of those singers would not be seen in a church again until the next Christmas eve save for the odd Christening, marriage or funeral !! 

The Cricketers would also be a popular destination at Christmas day lunch time and many a Christmas lunch was tarnished by the twin evils of an over long visit and rather too much festive spirit. Boxing day was the day for walking and many villagers would go for a stroll on that day. 

We didn't have anything like the consumer goodies that are available today and money was, to say the least, scarce but they were good days and people made their own pleasures and life was generally kinder, simpler and safer. All that remains is to wish all who read this offering a very happy Christmas and prosperous and peaceful New Year. 

Times, they have changed

A few days ago I was watching a television programme about Concorde, that wonderful aircraft we built with the French. The programme covered the history of the plane from its launch until it was taken out of service. Of course Concorde cut travelling times dramatically but it would appear it was not sufficiently profitable and this led to its ultimate demise. But, having watched the programme and the history contained within it I began to realise just how much things have changed in such a comparatively short space of time.

A little over thirty years ago I was a fairly regular traveller across the Atlantic to Canada. My aunt and uncle then lived in a small village a few miles east of Kingston in Ontario and we visited every couple of years or so. We used Air Canada on a couple of occasions but, more often than not, we flew with Freddie Laker's Sky Train, as it was called. This was a low frills air company that brought cheaper travel to the masses. Now, long gone, the company was hit by a major crash and some pretty stiff competition from British Airways. It was rumoured, at the time, that dirty tricks had been involved, who knows. 

However, quite apart from the departure of both Concorde and Laker Airways it occurred to me that we have lost a lot more in the years between. Freedoms which, in those days, we took for granted would now be unthinkable. I refer to the fact that on a number of occasions, during a trans-Atlantic flight I would request to take my two girls up to the flight deck. This was always permitted. The hostess would usually say she would ask the captain and would also whisper to keep quiet about it or everybody would want to go. On each occasion the request was granted. In truth it was more about dad wanting to have a look up front than the girls. Be that as it may, we got to the flight deck and had, probably, fifteen minutes up there during the mid-flight period. The Captain and his co-pilot were always charming and usually signed a postcard of the aircraft for the girls. They would also give us a rundown of what was going on and point out other aircraft on the radar and tell us which planes they were and where they were going. All good stuff but long gone. Can you imagine asking to go to the flight deck on a modern flight. Past terrorist attacks have ensured no chance of that and, I suspect, any such request would now be met with concern and suspicion. 

In addition to our air travel we also crossed the channel to France on board various ferry companies, most of which are also but a memory. Gone are the days of six or eight ferry companies to choose from. Now there are just two operating out of Dover, P&O and D.F.S.S. 

But again it was not unusual to request a visit to the bridge and,as with the requests on aircraft, was always granted. I well remember the various ship's radar showing just how crowded the English Channel actually is. Most will have heard it is the busiest shipping lane in the world but, to actually, see it on a radar screen is quite amazing. On another occasion we were on the bridge and I noticed a longish board, suspended by a brass chain over a big lever-like device. The board had, and I forget the exact words, but something like don't forget printed on it. When I asked I was told it was to remind the crew to recess the stabilisers. Most ferries have wing-like stabilisers to prevent the side to side rolling action which occurs in bad weather. I was told that the harbour entrance at Dover is very narrow and would cause the stabilisers to be ripped off if they were not withdrawn before going through the gap into the harbour. Hence the big sign. Once again any thought of getting on to the bridge today would be, no doubt, treated with alarm. The fact is passengers wouldn't get anywhere near it on today's ferries. It just goes to show just how many freedoms we lose when some lunatic goes mad and attacks us in the way of the modern terrorist. Perhaps only little things in the great big scheme of it all but, none the less, delightful in their way and in my view a sad loss. 

Sparrows

Ain't It A Shame Sparrers Can't Sing, the words of the title song from a Barbara Windsor film from 1963.

Isn't it amazing how the mind works? I was watching a flock of sparrows on my bird feeders the other afternoon and the words of that song just came floating into my mind. I didn't see the film but the title song was very popular at the time and obviously stuck. And, of course, sparrows don't actually sing they chirp and babble on in all sorts of ways but none of their utterings could remotely be described as song. Not withstanding all of this, sparrows are quite entertaining to watch. They are nothing, if not, quarrelsome. I have a large colony of them, apart from the fact that I feed the birds I also have a very large clump of thick trees and plants. A couple of apple trees have been taken over by a Clematis Montana and a Russian Creeper, together, these two climbers have entangled themselves in and around the trees to form an, almost, impenetrable mass which is huge. This mass of vegetation serves to provide a roosting place for the sparrows, they also build nests within it. I suppose it pretty much provides everything they could hope for in a roosting site. Being so dense, even when the leaves have dropped, the vines ensure a wind free location and the centre of the tangle is so dense that, save for the very hardest downpours, it remains dry, the rain running off in a way similar to a thatch. This mass also attracts a number of wrens which spend hours creeping around within it like little mice.In fact when I first saw one I actually thought it was a mouse. 

The number of sparrows, I suppose like many other species of birds, have declined significantly in recent years.Once again we have the dramatic changes in agricultural practices to thank for many of these declines and, not least the widespread and, I am afraid, indiscriminate use of chemicals upon the land. But in the case of the sparrow, I suspect, the improved machinery of today has also had an impact. The modern combine harvesters do not drop or fail to collect anything like the amount of grain which the old techniques and machinery did. In the old days, threshing, bagging up grain into sacks, and winnowing, (which was the process of sorting grain from the weed seed mixed with it ), all served to provide lots of grain being spilled onto the ground in and around the farmyard. This, in turn, provided lots of food for seed eating birds like the sparrow. I well remember the huge flocks of sparrows which, for example, could be seen on Dean Farm especially during the harvesting period. It should also be remembered that the grain harvest in those days was not completed in a few short days as it is now. The harvest, depending upon acreage, could then have taken two or three weeks to complete.

The sparrow and rat populations were then such that sparrow and ratting clubs were a common rural pastime. Men and boys would devote lots of spare time in the pursuit of both these species.These clubs were generally supported by the farmers and I suppose helped to keep losses down and damage to grain down a bit. Ratting was pursued with packs of terriers in the fields and hedgerows and in barns and shed etc. They were also shot at day and at night, I have spent many hours at Dean Farm, as a boy, rat shooting. Lights would be rigged up and when the rats came out to feed we would shoot them with air rifles. A very popular past time it was too.Rats quickly become used to lights and, of course are eager feeders. Together this meant we always had lots of targets to shoot at. Sparrows were also shot and caught in bigger numbers by a variety of home -made traps. These were usually wire netting structures with trap doors. They were bated with grain which enticed the birds to enter. The trap doors would be held up by a peg which had a string attached to it. When a sufficient number of birds were in the trap, the string would be pulled and the door would drop enclosing the birds within. 

The village church in Kingsley also provided nesting sites for sparrows, the large metal, funnel like tops to the drain pipes were of particular favour and provided a rich source of sparrows eggs for little boys who, legally then, collected birds egg as a hobby. I wish I had a pound for every time I have scaled up the drain pipes of the church. 

The trees in the church yard also provided nesting sites for the, now rare, tree sparrow. They particularly liked the holly trees which was a bit of problem as accessing their nests usually involved getting badly scratched. I wonder if there are still tree sparrows nesting in the holly today? I would like to think there are.

Of course, egg collecting became illegal in 1954 when I was nine, I have to say, country boys were not impressed by that piece of legislation. Personally, I don't think that egg collecting, in it's then form, did a great deal of damage, for a start, money was not involved. But nothing stays the same and life moves on. In general terms politicians spend a great deal of their time banning things and continue to do so, but has life improved as a result? I somehow doubt it.   

Butterflies

It hardly seems possible but the butterfly transect walking season is fast reaching its end for another year. The weekly walks begin at the beginning of April and go on until the end of September. So it looks to me as though there are about five left to do. How time flies. The transect walks have been conducted each year for some thirty years and provide all sorts of valuable information, not least, the winners and losers in terms of species each year. This year started slowly due to the rather dismal weather throughout April and into May. However, things did pick up and I am very happy to be able to say, as of last week, numbers of butterflies counted were up on last year by eighty one percent. Of course, I am talking Dorset, I don't, as yet, have the nationwide figures. I imagine this increase is, if not totally, partially due to the very long, hot dry spell we had last year. This would have provided ideal conditions and, no doubt, enabled a successful breeding season. 

One of the big disappointments last year was the sudden collapse in numbers of the, previously, abundant Tortoiseshell butterfly. It really was incredible how suddenly and significantly the numbers of that species dropped. However, I am glad to say, this year once again my Buddleia bush is covered in Tortoiseshells feeding on the nectar. Red Admirals, a favourite of mine, have had a very good year and they too are regular visitors to my garden. Readers may have seen in the press the articles regarding Painted Ladies which are a migratory butterfly. In any event, this year they have come to these shores in great numbers. This would appear to be an event which occurs every few years and this year is one of them. Here in Dorset they have turned up in good numbers and have featured on the transect counts for several weeks now. They also have a liking for my Buddleia and most days there are two or three of them to be seen.

On the transect walks, which I do in two of The Woodland Trust woods, numbers of Speckled Woods, Meadow Browns, Gatekeepers and Marbled Whites have been good. Silver Washed Fritillaries have remained much the same. There has been an increase in several of the blue varieties of butterflies which is pleasing as they are such beautifully coloured specimens. 

One of the woods, Duncliffe, which I look after and do the transect walk in has a flower meadow on the approach to the wood. This has been deliberately created from wild flower seed sourced locally. It provides superb feeding for all sorts of butterflies, bees, grasshoppers and crickets and all manner of other insect life. If ever there was an example of the benefits of not using agricultural chemicals on a piece of land, this flower meadow is surely it. The amount and range of insect life it supports is quite amazing. It is a sobering thought that once upon a time, and not that long ago, certainly within my lifetime, most of our fields and meadows were like the Duncliffe one. How sad we have lost so much habitat. The good news is most of it could be reclaimed in equally short time if only the will was there to do it. I firmly believe what goes around comes around and there is growing evidence that farmers are beginning to come around to using less or no chemicals. If only there was a payment for doing so the trickle would, no doubt, become a rush.  

Gardening, etc

I happen to be lucky enough to have a large garden, I suppose it is in the region of half an acre and I enjoy looking after it. Since we have lived here I have endeavoured to create a wild life garden in order to encourage both birds and insects, butterflies and bees. This has involved planting quite a lot of trees. Many years ago when we lived in Surrey we belonged to The Cottage Garden Society and, as members, we attended their summer evening garden visits. These were always very pleasant as they involved a tour of a garden followed by a picnic, a good old natter and a plant buying opportunity. A very good way of obtaining plants at a reasonable price. I recall a visit to a particular garden which was owned by a chap called Trevor and his partner. It was, as you might expect, created in the cottage garden style and it was stunning. But the thing I remember Trevor telling us was that gardens should be a series of rooms. His theory being, you walked from one room to another and each one was different, planted with differing sorts of plants and providing a different atmosphere and experience. This impressed me and I have followed that idea ever since. Incidentally, Trevor had written a number of books on the subject and was an acknowledged expert in his field. Sadly I don't remember his surname. 

In any event, my tree planting has been in an effort to construct a series of rooms and I now have a garden which provides that experience. Each area being different from the previous as you walk through. The main area has a lawn and a flower bed planted with cottage garden plants, roses around the house and lots of large pots and containers full, for the most part, of bee and butterfly attracting plants. Several honeysuckles and a buddleia complete the insect feeding stations. It works, on a sunny day all of the above are covered with several species of bees and we also have a healthy butterfly population. The trees create, if you like, the walls of the rooms. I also have a Japanese garden, a large pond, which is enclosed and covered and a wild area with just a few paths cut through it. The pond area is enclosed with fence and netting overhead as we have a local heronry and I have even had the odd visit from a kingfisher. Not to mention, one weekend when we were away, a devastating visit from an otter. The trees I have planted consist of oak, field maple, willows various, cob nut and walnut and the odd hawthorn and blackthorn which I have allowed to grow into quite large specimens. All in all they attract a wide range of birds and an occasional, unwelcome, grey squirrel. Why unwelcome ? These non-indigenous pests are omnivorous and therefore they eat the eggs and fledglings of song birds, indeed any birds,not to mention the damage they do to trees. 

My back, and boundary hedge, has a big and, so far, healthy elm tree group within it. I hope they have a degree of resistance to the dreaded Dutch Elm disease. So far, and they are now over thirty feet in height, they have remained unscathed . In most cases, I am told, the disease strikes before the young trees reach twenty feet so each year I watch carefully for any signs of illness but so far so good. My hedges around our field, which is beside the house and separated by a driveway, contain a variety of trees and shrubs and a good quantity of brambles which acts like a magnet for birds and insects especially when they are fruiting. So all in all,we manage to attract a wide range of wild life. This year, nesting in the garden, we have had three lots of bluetits, two great tits,three robins, a wren, three blackbirds, a pied wagtail and numerous sparrows. The sparrows nest in a large old clump of clematis which was here when we bought the place, it is very dense and provides the birds with shelter and, no doubt, some warmth. Apart from nesting in this mass they also roost in it throughout the winter.The above accounts only for the nests I have discovered in the garden and sheds, in fact I have a blackbird with fledglings in my workshop as I write. I am quite sure there have been many more nests in the hedges around the field, but my days of rummaging through thick and ancient hedgerows are, sadly, long gone. 

Readers, if there are any, that follow my jottings will perhaps recall in a previous article my comments regarding the rabbits which had taken up residence in my field and my fears that they may have succumbed to the fox or disease. Well, I am happy to report they are still around and doing well. In fact, the other morning when I went out to feed the animals one of their number had come to the top of the field in an area near the feed shed. He got a bit of a shock as Humphrey, my terrier was with me and gave chase. The bunny made it safely to the bramble patch at the bottom of the field with time to spare. The trouble is, now Humpers knows we have rabbits he keeps clearing off in search of them every time he comes out with me which is twice a day. I don't imagine the rabbits are in any great danger from him but if Bertie, our lurcher, gets involved it could be another story. Oh well, as they say, that's life in the sticks.

Surveys

As of the first of April life changes in the Yeomans household in that I begin undertaking wildlife surveys again. First there are the transect walks on behalf of Butterfly Conservation and these take place between the first of April and the last day of September each year. One walk each week and, since I cover Duncliffe and Fifehead woods, I am committed to two walks a week. Duncliffe being the longest with eight sections and Fifehead has five sections. Certain conditions have to be met in order that a walk can take place. The temperature has to be over thirteen degrees, the amount of sunlight has to be taken into account as does the wind and time of day. Walks take place between 1045 and 1545. It is usually possible to fit the walks in but there are the odd weeks when the weather and conditions are just not suitable and a walk is missed. So far this year all of my walks have been completed but last week was testing. 

Early butterflies are Brimstones, orange tips, speckled woods, common and holly blues with the odd red admirals and peacocks. I have also been fortunate enough to record the lovely little small copper which has appeared again in a meadow beside Duncliffe woods. Last year I was recording the odd one or two of the small coppers but so far this year it has been eight or nine which is very encouraging. The meadow in question is, incidentally, of an old unspoiled type containing lots of wild flowers. Just like meadows used to be before farmers began the widespread use of pesticides and weed killers. 

In general terms last year was a fairly good year for most butterfly species and increases in numbers were recorded in these parts for most. However, the small tortoiseshell did not do well with numbers dramatically down.

At the same time as the transect walks begin so do the dormouse surveys and I attend two of those. One in a small copse called Oysters copse which belongs to the Wiltshire Trust for Nature Conservation. The other is Goblin Coombe in North Somerset where the surveys are undertaken by members of the Somerset Trusts mammal group. Both areas are of old woodland and contain a wide variety of trees and shrubs and contain the elusive little dormouse. The first survey in Oysters proved negative as far as dormice were concerned. However, almost half of the dormouse boxes surveyed contained nesting tits. Blue tits, great tits and marsh tits. One wonders how on earth these little birds find the entrance hole to the boxes as they are located at the back of the box and against the tree trunk. Bird boxes, of course have their holes facing outwards and are obvious and easy to locate. But find the entrances they do and then occupy the boxes for just over a month until the fledglings have flown the nest. The other, less welcome, squatters are bees, These take over the odd box or two and are usually very aggressive when disturbed. 

I missed the first Goblin Coombe survey due to a post opp. infection but six individuals were recorded. The second survey, Mays, took place yesterday and we were lucky enough to record nine individuals. Some boxes had two mice in them and one had three. All were torpid and remained fast asleep during the process of sexing and weighing them. The smallest weighed ten grams and the heaviest seventeen grams. All were in good condition and, clearly, had survived the winter hibernation. It never fails to thrill when a box is opened and inside is a little dormouse they are just the most delightful of little creatures. Although all nine were found to be asleep this is not uncommon as the dormouse has the ability to induce this state of temporary hibernation as and when they feel like it. No doubt, when the weather is a bit unfavorable or perhaps when food is scarce. They can remain in this torpid state for a few hours or a day or two which is quite handy. When found the mice feel very cold and one could be forgiven for imagining that they were dead. Often they are snoring and occasionally the warmth from the hand of the surveyor will cause the mouse to partially wake. All quite charming. So there you have it, that’s what surveying is all about as far as I am concerned, a joy to be involved in. Anyone reading this and thinking they might like to get involved can do so by contacting their local Trust for Nature Conservation. In my experience I have found them to be helpful and willing to provide the necessary contacts. The good news is you don’t have to be a member if you don’t want to. 

More fishing

Having watched a group of young people, all with their heads down, fiddling with tablets and mobile phones it occurred to me just how different life is today for our youngsters. As a result I got thinking about the stuff I and my friends did in Kingsley when we were of a similar age to the above mentioned group. I suspect the modern youngster walks very little and spends hours sitting with their gadgetry exercising only their fingers. It seems the newspapers are, almost daily, warning us of an obesity crisis among our youth. Trust me, there was no such crisis in my childhood days. Not least because we walked miles every day in order to perform some task or another, fishing, birds nesting, collecting nuts, blackberries, fungi etc. depending upon the season and or time of year. We left home after breakfast and, for the most part, did not return until tea time. Apart from all of the exercise we didn't have anything like the food available to us that the modern child enjoys, the war was not long over and rationing went on for quite a while. 

The fishing aspect of our activities, apart from the village pond, took place in the river at the back of the common and extended from Shortheath Common and Oakhanger all the way down to the rear of the Sleaford garage. That is a lot of walking, no doubt, amounting to many miles. 

Of course, we didn't do the whole length in any given day but we did cover long distances in pursuit of the wild brown trout which was plentiful in the river in those days. 

The other great joy, as far as the river was concerned, was tiddler fishing. This was done in the feeder stream which ran from, north of the village, behind Dean Farm under the B3004 and down hill towards where Mr and Mrs Waters farmed, before entering the river. It was the area behind the Waters farm which was the most popular with us as, in those days, it teamed with small fish. I suppose the close proximity to the main river contributed to this abundance. At the time my best mate, Lewis Batty, lived in the old chapel cottage. The cottage had a tinned roof lean-to and it was in this that we housed our collection of containers holding our fishy captives. The stream in which they had been caught was not a deep one, probably for the most part, about a foot deep. Not having lovely waterproof footwear available to us then we simply took off our shoes and socks, rolled up our trouser legs and paddled, this was in the summer months! In order to capture the tiddlers we used jam jars, bottles and netting, if we could get it. There was, I remember, a significant ridge worn away under the bank of the left hand side of the stream as it flowed to the river. Under this all manner of little fish would take refuge from our efforts to catch them. But catch them we did and we did so by pushing a jar into the ridge cavity downstream and them by means of a hand of foot slide the fish towards the jar causing the tiddlers in front to dart down and into the waiting jar. We caught dozens, in hindsight, far too many. There were bullheads, loach, (these we referred to respectively as dog and cat fish ), sticklebacks, minnows, small trout and very occasionally, fresh water lampreys.

It would interest me greatly to learn if there are still tiddlers in the stream and if so, do today's village boys go fishing for them. Sadly, I suspect the answer to both questions is a no, however, I would be absolutely delighted to be wrong on this assumption. The last time I visited Kingsley, a little over a year ago, I attempted to drive over and have a look at the river, a task that was always possible when I lived in the village, but found the way barred by military barriers. Not only that but whilst I was attempting to turn around a small detachment of rifle carrying troops came jogging up the path. It would appear the military has taken far more control of the common than in days gone by. Apart from occasional maneuvers, and they were very occasional, and the odd military radio lorry, not much was seen of a military presence. People used the common pretty much as they liked, is it still so? I am aware that the common is now designated an S.S.S.I and I wonder if that has had an impact at all? I would be very interested to learn the answers to these question, perhaps some kind soul will let me know.   

Fishing

On Friday of last week my brother Don and I went to our local reservoir for our first days fishing of the season. It was a pleasant day, calm and quite mild. We got to our destination at 0800hrs and having paid for our tickets we pottered off to our usual fishing spot. We had been fishing for, I suppose, about five minutes when another angler appeared on the scene and came over to have a chat with us. All quite normal, most fellow anglers will stop to pass the time of day and to enquire as to the state of the fishing and to get an idea off what fly or lure the fish are being tempted with ….or not, depending on circumstances. So having observed the usual social niceties the newcomer moved along the bank a few yards down from where Don was fishing and began to prepare to fish himself. 

All perfectly normal and acceptable. This chap did not introduce himself and we had not met him before. After a few moments he began telling us his fishing life history: where he had fished his best catches, places to avoid, it went on and on. All the while, of course, Don and I were trying to concentrate on our casting and presentational skills and, of course, trying to catch some fish. Eventually our companion began to fish himself but the chatter went on ….and on …and on. In short he didn't stop, hardly taking the time to catch his breath. We were treated to his theory as to the best fly to use at this time of the season and a constant questioning as which flies Don and I were using. We then got advice on the weather and he shared his doubts with us that none of us were likely to catch a fish that day. One wondered why he had bothered to turn up since his forecasts were so pessimistic. However, turn up he had and we were the lucky recipients of his company and angling wisdom! 

Time passed, and having heard Don and I talking to each other our "friend" began calling us by our Christian names. Very nice. The chatter went on and on. The dismal forecasts got more dismal with every half and hours that passed. I seriously began to think it was time to throw myself into the water and try and catch a fish by hand. I didn't voice my feelings but a few moments later having told us that we should all remain positive and try and make the situation a little humorous he actually asked if we had access to a wet suit. This, obviously, provided the humour he felt was lacking and he chuckled away whilst making similarly silly, and very humorous suggestions of a similar nature. 

One of the joys of fishing is the peace and tranquillity it provides, yes, it is good to catch a fish but there are usually plenty of other things which contribute to the pleasure of the day. The bird life being one. Where we were has a very healthy water bird population and amongst them are Great Crested Grebe. They are fascinating birds and I can happily watch them for hours. When they dive beneath the surface of the water it is always a bit of a challenge to predict where the bird will eventually resurface. It is quite amazing how long they are able to remain submerged. Also, at the time of year in question, there is the song of blackbirds and thrushes and various other smaller resident birds to cheer up the day with. That is, of course, if you can hear them undisturbed. By now our new found companion, let's call him Wally, was still chattering away on subjects which he clearly felt he was an expert . I don't really know why the name Wally came into my head, but on reflection I think it fits just right. By now Wally was beginning to get on my nerves and I seriously considered moving to another area. I changed my mind feeling that if Don and I moved on Wally was just as likely to follow us, probably in the (mistaken) belief that we may know something and were off to a better spot. 

All of a sudden I was into a fish which after a few minutes I was able to land. Wally became even more animated by this event. What fly had I used, how was I presenting it, did I pull it through the water slowly or with speed? The questioning was intense. Wally's predictions of doom regarding his chances of catching any fish became even more gloomy. Then, as things often happen, he hooked a fish. I went over and netted it for him reasoning, that if he actually got a fish, he might just shut up. No such luck we were now into the numbers game again, he was, he told us, very unlikely to catch a second or third fish and so on and so on. Don then got a fish and Wally hooked and lost another one. Sometime later I caught a second fish and the questioning from Wally began all over again. I'm afraid I had had enough, it was time to go home. Wally seemed quite surprised that I was not going to stay and try and catch three more fish which is the day limit for that fishery. Don decided to remain and I left him in the dubious company of Wally who was still rabbiting on. I wished him farewell and he said he hoped to see me again I smiled and thought I hope I am spared that delight. Well, you can't win them all ! 

Another Year

My years these days are very much built around seasonal activities. Once again I have reached the end of two seasons and begun another. First to end was the butterfly transect walks which ended in September. Having completed two a week since the beginning of April my weekly routine changes quite a lot. No longer do I have to consider the temperature, wind and sunshine each day in order to decide if a walk is going to be possible. There are rules for walking which are designed to provide the best conditions in which to count butterflies. This year was a good one with regard to butterfly walks as, throughout the walking season, I was able to complete a walk on every week. No blanks. 

The season was also good as we had the long dry spell during the summer which meant conditions were, for the most part, good for butterflies. In fact, on my two transect walks, I recorded a number of species not previously seen or not seen on those particular walks for many years. The White Letter Hairstreak, Argos Brown and White Admiral being a few. Also a good increase in Small Coppers. Generally there was a big increase in recorded numbers on the previous year. Although Small Tortoishells were down in numbers. In Dorset the good news is that numbers across the whole county were up just over fifty percent on recorded numbers for 2017. One interesting feature of this year's observations, which I came across during the hot dry spell, was the fact that all normal sources of water had dried up and consequently I observed large numbers of butterflies taking to the bottom of ditches. This was clearly an attempt to get at any moisture which might remain and by no means normal behaviour.

The next season to end for me was the dormouse survey season which runs from March through to the end of October. My involvement in these surveys has been to join teams on three surveys each month, two in Somerset and another just over the border into Wiltshire. One of the Somerset survey areas being right at the north of the county near Cheddar in the wonderfully named Goblin Coombe. Dormouse surveys involve checking nest boxes placed on trees and the number of boxes varies from fifty up to around eighty. Each box is opened and if a dormouse is found to be present it is weighed and its sex recorded and all data is then sent to The People Trust For Endangered Species. This year has been a productive one for dormouse numbers although the long dry summer did appear to keep the dormice out of the boxes for a couple of months. Quite simply, we concluded, it was just too hot and dry for comfort in a small wooden box. Normally, it appears, quite moist conditions within the boxes favours dormouse occupation of the boxes when not breeding. In fact on two occasions I found sleeping dormice in boxes which contained nesting material which was almost soggy. However, when we got into the breeding season in August / October we found good numbers of dormice. In fact on both of those months at Goblin Coombe we recorded dormouse numbers in the twenties. The additional good news was the fact that all mice weighed were sufficiently fat to ensure they would survive their hibernation through the winter months. This tells us that their food supply during the summer had been good enabling body weight to be achieved.

The other good news, well at least as far as I am concerned, is the fact that I have now got my own Dormouse survey licence. This has taken two years to achieve but now means I am able to conduct surveys on my own and to help train other people who want a licence.

So October brought the end of the recording season but it also heralded the beginning of the beating season and I now find myself attending a number of local shoots each week. In fact most weeks I am out beating four times. This year I was invited to beat on a mid-Dorset shoot which has down land with high hills and deep valleys. the views are quite simply stunning and since, so far,the weather has been kind to us it has been a delight. Not only that, it keeps this old man pretty fit. 

Butterflies

Most readers will, no doubt, recall the dire warnings and prophecies of doom which were being cast far and wide last year with regard to our butterfly population. The subject made most of the newspapers, it featured in a number of T.V. programmes and also on news bulletins. Basically, we were told, the butterfly population had hit rock bottom and many varieties faced extinction. Even David Attenborough, who is president of Butterfly Conservation, added his voice to the throng. Yes, last year was not the best on record for butterflies and the recorded numbers dropped. However, I have long held the belief, seasons come and seasons go and some are good, some are bad but, overall, Mother Nature has a way of sorting most things out and things generally right themselves. There are always many, many, things which impact upon the fortunes of any species never one single item. Temperature, rain, wind, food supplies to mention just a few. The worst effects are usually felt, in my opinion, when a number of those factors conspire and occur together. It is then that things start to seriously go wrong but, come the next season things are restored and, hey ho, everything begins to recover.

This year has undoubtedly been unusual for its long, hot, dry, period and as such it has had benefits for butterflies. As a transect walker for Butterfly Conservation, I undertake two walks each week in the woods which I look after for the Woodland Trust. In both of woods there have undoubtedly been a large number of butterflies, not only that, but also a number of species previously rarely seen or unrecorded. The transect walks take place from the first of April through until the end of September. A few weeks ago, at the halfway stage of the walking period, the count numbers for the whole of Dorset were fifty-one and a half per cent up on the numbers recorded over the same period last year. To date, the number of Common Blue butterflies is almost at the level of the all-time high for my two woods. I strongly suspect, by the time next weeks walks have been completed, that record will have been broken. 

White Admirals have appeared again this year, Clouded Yellows and White  Letter Hairstreaks. The latter even appeared in my garden one afternoon. I am several miles from the woods so this was not, I suspect, one from there. Apart from the fact that I have quite a lot of elm trees around my field, which is the feed plant for the White Letter Hairstreak, it is difficult to understand why that one paid a visit. There has never before been a record of that species in a village in which I live. The nearest known, small, colony is getting on for twenty miles away.

In general terms then, it is looking increasingly likely, the Dorset records will show a huge rise in numbers of most butterfly species. I wouldn’t mind betting that the same sort of results will be recorded throughout the country. This has been a good year, but just as easily, next year could be another bad, one that is how it goes. 

One very notable and, perhaps, a little negative impact of the heatwave has been the fact that large numbers of butterflies have been recorded by me in the bottom of ditches. No doubt the lack of moisture is the reason. Although fairly dry, the ditch bottoms have retained a degree of moist earth and I think this is the attraction for the insects. 

Before I finish, may I remind readers, The Great Butterfly Count is still on and anyone interested in submitting sightings of butterflies in their garden or local area may do so by going to the Butterfly Conservation website. 

Cricketers opens under new management

The Cricketers Inn will reopen under new management tomorrow, Friday 3rd August 2018.

Let's all make sure we get down there and support our pub regularly.

Dormice Part Two

Since writing last month I have been involved in several dormouse surveys in both Wiltshire and Somerset.The aim of these surveys is to provide the P.T.E.S with a comprehensive picture of the ups and downs of the dormouse population and have data to make comparisons each year. If a dormouse box is found to contain a dormouse it is carefully removed from its position on the tree, having securely blocked the hole into the box with a bung, and placed into a large polythene bag. The mouse is then let out into the bag, the box removed and the mouse caught, weighed, sexed, aged and finally replaced into the box and relocated upon the tree from whence it came. All of this process is overseen by a licence holder and the mice are none the worse for their experience.The great advantage in handling dormice is the fact that, for the most part, they don’t bite. There are records in these parts of an exception to this rule in the form of a black dormouse which will administer a fairly savage bite if found and handled. The fact that the creature is black is, in itself, very unusual. 

Quite often when opening a dormouse box it will be found to contain a Wood Mouse or a yellow Necked Mouse and anyone foolish enough to pick one of these up, without extreme caution,will almost certainly be bitten and hard. Last year I was on a survey with a licence holder and a very young female student. The young lady in question had seen movement when checking a box and had placed the box into the polythene bag believing the occupant to be a dormouse.It quickly became apparent the mouse inside was a wood mouse. Having exited the box the mouse displayed no intention of returning to it. So, said young lady, declared she would catch it and pop it back into the box. I casually asked how she was going to achieve this to which she replied she would pick it up. Asked if she had ever picked one up before her reply was negative. I told her wood mice bite, but no, there would be no problem she said. In went her hand, grabbed the mouse, the mouse bit. It latched on to her index finger and sank its considerable teeth in deep. She will never do that again! Incidentally,biting mouse varieties can be handled, albeit carefully, by a process known as scruffing. This involves manoeuvring the mouse into the corner of the bag and then gripping it behind its head by the scruff of its neck. Thus it cannot bite your. This should only be done by a competent person ….bites are not nice !   

Over the recent surveys I have been involved in we have also found large numbers of boxes containing nesting blue tits, great tits and marsh tits. Also, on two occasions, bees. In the case of the birds it seems to me quite incredible how they find the entrance hole into a box as it is against the tree trunk and cannot be seen unless it is approached from the trunk itself. But,find the entrance they do, and then go on to rear their young within. Whilst mentioning the positioning of the holes in dormouse boxes, we found a whole range of the boxes,on a recent survey which had been turned around the other way. No doubt by some well meaning idiot who thought them to be bird boxes.

In most areas the monthly surveys do not take place in August as this is the month in which dormice are having their young which, when first born, are both tiny and pink.

If any readers are interested in becoming involved in dormouse surveys this can be achieved by contacting the local mammal group of your County Wild Life Trust. Details of leaders and dates etc. are to be found on the internet. On the website of The Peoples Trust For Endangered Species can be found a huge amount of information regarding dormice and the surveying process etc.. All of which is free to download. I am fairly confident that there will be surveys conducted in and around Kingsley as I know from my childhood there that dormice were to be found in many of the woods and hangers in that area. 

But, be warned, dormouse surveying is a very addictive practice, once you have found and handled one of these delightful little creatures you will be hooked for life. To hold a torpid dormouse in your hands and observe its delicate little features is nothing short of magical. 

Save our pub

As some will be aware The Cricketers Inn is up for sale and won't necessarily continue as a pub.

The Localism Act provides a mechanism whereby we can have the pub listed as an "Asset of Community Value" which will protect it for a period allowing time for us to develop a plan to perhaps purchase the pub and run it as a village enterprise.

If you'd like to support this idea please do two things:-

1) Contact parish councillor Claire Millhouse (or the Clerk Karine Nana Yonko) and let her know your thoughts.
2) Support The Cricketers Inn by eating, drinking & socialising there

2017/18 Shooting season

As I write, towards the end of February, it hardly seems possible that yet another shooting season has come and gone. I seem to recall, as a child, I was told time gets slower as you get older, it seems to me to be the other way around. Be that as it may, yet another season has passed and during all the days I was beating there were only two or three which were wet. Mercifully they were only part days of rain. Believe me, there is nothing worse than starting a day in the rain and continuing to get wet until it is time to go home many hours later. Not good for man or dog. It all becomes particularly unpleasant if the guns stop for lunch. What this means, in practical terms, is the beaters hang around in their cold and wet clothing trying to dry out, knowing full well they are in for a second soaking when the guns return and shooting continues. Fortunately, the keeper on the shoot I go to most often has made a rule that the guns shoot through and lunch at the end of the day. This has been a great success and it also ensures that guns are not handled by people whom have had the odd tipple with their lunch. Say no more! So, for the most part, we had dry days and many of them were sunny and very pleasant. Of course, nothing is ever straightforward, as,on sunny days the pheasants are not in the woods, they are out along the hedgerows dusting and basking in the sunshine. All this means they have to be driven back into the woods and on to the flushing points in order to be presented before the guns. This all takes time and a lot of walking but in the sun it is rather a nice way to spend a few hours. 

Bertie, my young Lurcher, was a year old at the beginning of the season. This was as I planned it because I wanted to be able to take him beating and to begin the job of teaching him his part in the shooting calendar. Any Lurcher worth his salt wants to work and the selection of a puppy from working stock is just the start of the process. During the weeks and months leading up to the season, basic obedience has to be taught and a good standard achieved. There is absolutely no point in arriving at a shoot with a dog which is out of control, the most likely outcome of such a situation is to be sent home by the keeper. A bad dog can very quickly ruin the day's shooting and that would not be a good thing for man or beast. Fortunately, Bertie was receptive and took well to training, he was a quick learner and, I am happy to claim, puts a lot of more experienced dogs to shame. He comes back when called, he stays when told to do so and I can drop him in the down position with a hand signal and at long distances. All of which commends him to shoot keepers. There is always a worry with a new dog that it might be gun shy. Some dogs hear the bang of a gun and are gone. This is something which, as far as I am aware, is with them for life and, I think, incurable. However, thankfully, Bertie does not suffer from that problem. 

Lurchers are by nature, and for the most part, quite clever dogs. I say for the most part as, with any breed or strain of dog, there are always the idiots which appear to be beyond training. The makeup of a proper Lurcher usually includes Greyhound and Collie. The Greyhound being the fastest dog and, therefore, providing speed and the Collie being brainy and providing intelligence. Together these two qualities should make for a very good working dog and, trained well, usually do. One of the biggest matters to overcome in the shooting field, when working a Lurcher, is the fact that they are gazehounds. This means they hunt by sight and not by scent. Working by sight has its benefits but it is also desirable for the dog to use its nose as well. Bertie took to locating and flushing pheasants by sight as though he had been born for it. Which, since he was brought into the world for hunting, is not that surprising. However, it has taken most of the season to train him into using his nose as well. This, really, is just a question of regular and frequent contact with the pheasants in cover where sighting is difficult if not. impossible. The nose, therefore, becomes an essential part in both locating and flushing the birds. Well, don't you just know it, at almost exactly the moment when the penny dropped and Bertie got the idea that nose equals pheasants the season came to an end. Fortunately, dogs have a very good memory and my expectation is, at the beginning of next season, Bertie will pick up pretty much where he left off. So what do we do now and until October when it all starts again? Well there will be a bit a rabbiting and chasing the odd grey squirrel. Training never stops and most days when we go out there is a session of training, all of which is, wrapped up as a game and a fun thing to do. Also long summer walks to keep us both fit, well assuming that is, that we get a summer. 

Chutney part two

As the shooting season progressed and, every time, the beaters wagon drove past Maurice's smallholding mention was made of his incredible chutney. Pete was well and truly hooked and continued to express his amazement that such a production could have taken place, right under his nose, involving a friend of his, and he remaining completely unaware of its existence. As we approached Christmas of that particular year and thoughts turned to the traditional beaters pre–Christmas food, my brother told Pete that he would bring along a jar of the famous chutney to share with us all. Famous, that is, because by now we had elevated the phantom chutney to new heights. Maurice had won the gold medal for chutney at the Bath and West Show, undoubtedly a great achievement. This we told Pete had resulted in a contract to supply chutney to Waitrose stores throughout the country. Again Pete expressed his amazement at these achievements and told us all that he had not seen Maurice for many months… just as well really, in the circumstances. However, Pete continued to accept, without question, that Maurice was a leading maker of fine chutney and doing very nicely at it. The beaters pre-Christmas feast is really just an extension of the normal mid-morning drinks break that takes place on every shoot day. The difference being, on the pre-Christmas day beaters tend to bring additional festive bites to be shared and some of the guns also donate various goodies for our delectation. The keeper's wife, who normally provides the refreshments for the beaters, also puts on a special spread for the occasion. It was, therefore, nothing out of the ordinary that Don had offered to bring a jar of chutney for the event. He did an incredible job, having produced an extremely realistic label for the chutney jar. Apart from mention of Dorset's finest chutney there was a list of ingredients and mention of the awards which had been bestowed upon the completely fake chutney within the jar. 

What was not mentioned on the label was the fact that Don had liberally laced the homemade chutney, he had produced, with a very strong chilli powder. It was hot, very hot! Knowing what was in it I abstained. Some of the more enthusiastic chutney eating beaters generously spread their cheese and biscuits with the lethal mix. Not, however, before Pete had been enticed to sample a small portion of the stuff. With his usual protestations of not being one for spicy or fancy food out of the way, and, having been persuaded that it was, after all, Christmas Pete got stuck in and his reaction was as swift as it was spectacular. The fiery mix hit his pallet nearly taking his head off, he choked, he coughed and his face changed from its normal colour to an alarming shade of red. He dived for the hedge to expel the chutney from his mouth. Whilst several others within the group had experienced the undoubted heat they had managed, in varying degrees, to put on a brave face and spoke warmly of the excellence, of this, one of Maurice's finest chutneys. It took Pete most of the day to regain normality, during which time, he made it very clear his first taste of chutney was quite definitely his last. He could not begin to understand why anyone would want to eat such stuff and how it had achieved such acclaim was quite beyond his comprehension. The pre–Christmas episode long forgotten, the season continued and the chutney joke carried on, Pete still blissfully unaware that the whole thing was a complete farce. 

The season ended and that was that. In the autumn of the same year the new season began, as they always do, and the chutney joke was soon up and running again. Pete was again told of further successes which Maurice and his chutney had achieved throughout the summer. As previously, he accepted all this nonsense without question. Each time we passed Maurice's place the chutney was always mentioned and so we continued for several weeks. Then, the inevitable happened, one morning Pete arrived for beating as usual and received the usual greetings and was asked how he was. "Well", he said, "I am ok but I had a very embarrassing experience in the week. "What happened", we asked. "I bumped into Maurice and congratulated him on his chutney success but he said he didn't know what I was talking about." replied Pete. "I said, you know all your awards and sales at Waitrose but he said are you mad, I don't know what you are on about". "So", went on Pete, "I said Derek told me all about you and your chutney and then Maurice got quite funny and said he didn't know anyone called Derek and nor did he bloody well know anything about chutney". Pete it would appear persisted saying that he had seen and tasted a jar of the chutney. Where upon Maurice told him he was talking complete rubbish, actually he used another word, but you get the point. "I was so embarrassed" said Pete.  "What's going on he asked?" Quick as a flash my brother said, "I think old Maurice is not paying his VAT or taxes and he doesn't want you to know about his chutney business".  Pete pondered this for a few moments and then said "Oh well that would explain why he was so queer with me". That was that, the explanation was accepted without further doubt and the whole matter not mentioned again. Clearly, Pete knew Maurice better than we did and was perfectly happy to assume, the somewhat sinister explanation, completely accounted for Maurice's strange behaviour. Due to age and ill health Pete no longer comes beating and, as far as I know, still believes the chutney tale. As for the other members of the beating team, well, they all have a bit of a giggle each time we pass Maurice's place. 

Maurice's chutney (part 1)

Actually Maurice's chutney does not and never has existed, it all came about as a result of what once would have been known as a practical joke or leg pull, these days more commonly known as a wind-up. The victim of this matter was one Peter. Peter, or Pete was a member of the beating team which my brother Don and I belong to on a shoot just outside of Sherborne in Dorset. Pete lives in Somerset and travelled quite a way to attend the shoot. He is a little man in stature, very well educated and very rich. His father left him a farm and several houses in the Somerset town of Yeovil. Pete's position is not very apparent and one would be forgiven for thinking him something of a hobo. I guess he is in, or around, his early seventies but he has let himself go. This is a rather sad state of affairs as Pete is one of life's gentlemen he is polite, kindly and generally a nice guy. If he has one tiny fault it is probably that he doesn't like to miss anything. He likes to be in the know when it comes to local gossip and will quiz anyone if he hears a small part of a conversation in order not to miss any little bit of info. This is probably his Achilles heel and was undoubtedly why he got sucked into the following matter. 

As is usual on a shoot day, the beaters had stopped for their mid-morning refreshments, a combination of snacks and port. We were in a country lane, which was narrow, and whilst we were there a Landrover came along and slowed down in order to pass. Upon drawing alongside our group Pete recognised the driver to be one Maurice and engaged him in a conversation. When Maurice departed Pete informed us that he had known Maurice for many years.

Maurice lived nearby and owned a smallholding on which he grew a large amount of vegetables. He also had a number of biggish barns one of which had a chimney protruding from the roof and would often be seen to be producing smoke when we passed by the establishment, which we did on a frequent basis. Maurice was known to sell his vegetables from a stall in a local car park on Saturday mornings together with his brother. This meant that most of the beating party had knowledge of Maurice on a passing basis if not on a personal level. However, after the above conversation Pete asked the party if they knew Maurice to which a number of us replied that we did, myself included. It later became obvious that Pete, from this conversation, concluded that Maurice and I were well known to each other which was not the case. 

The wind-up to which this article refers, following on from the above, just sort of happened, and as these things tend to do grew and grew. The details are as follows. As previously mentioned the beating parties trailer passed Maurice's place on a regular basis and more often than not at the end of the day on our way home. On many occasions this was in the dark as the last part of the days shooting was right at the far end of the shoot, miles from our base. On many of those occasions smoke would be seen rising from Maurice's barn chimney. On one such occasion it was commented that Maurice was working late and Pete made the remark that he no idea what Maurice would be doing at this time of day and so it all began. I casually remarked that he was probably making a batch of chutney. No particular reason, that was what was said. Pete immediately latched on to this remark and said he had no idea that Maurice made chutney. I and my brother then expressed our amazement that somebody had not heard of the award winning chutney which Maurice produced. No he said he had no idea of such a thing. We then piled on the nonsense saying that the chutney was widely available in local shops and was quite superb. Pete then excused himself for not knowing these matters by telling the group that he was not a fancy eater and, he did not eat spicy food. It is said from small acorns great oaks are grown and so the seeds had been sown and the wind-up was up and running. Part two in the next edition which will be January so to all those who read my jottings a very happy New Year. 

Autumn

It’s the time of year again when my routine changes quite dramatically all the way through until the end of the winter. Autumn is with us and that, for me and many others, means the beginning of the shooting season. The truth is, I don’t actually do much shooting these days, I have the odd day here and there and that suits me nicely. My particular love is beating. Once again, as with so many things in life, that love began in my childhood at Kingsley in a time when there were quite a lot of shoots in the area and, then as now, young boys were welcome. I was going on to write, well behaved boys, but in those times all boys were well behaved! Not least because the game keepers would not have minced their words and a clip around the ear was, by no means, out of the question. Somewhat different from today’s attitudes, although a good old fashioned "rollicking" is still a distinct possibility the ear clipping option is long gone. Parents these days would probably get a lawyer involved. Although, true to say, most of the younger lads that come out beating that I have met are pretty good, there have been the odd one or two that have been sent home. Usually because they think they know more than the keeper and are prepared to argue a point, something we would never had done. We knew our place, as the saying goes!

On Thursday of this week we had a work day on one of the shoots which I attend. These days are great fun, lots of banter and gossip. For the most part, when the season finishes,the beating team don’t see one another until it all starts again in the autumn. There are odd occasions when, at country shows or other rural events, one bumps into a fellow beater but, by and large, the team come from far and wide and so meetings out of season are rare. Consequently, pre-season work days are eagerly anticipated and, generally, a good time is had by all. On these days no money changes hands the work is done on a voluntary basis but plenty of snacks, drinks and a good lunch are all provided by the keeper. There are also added bonuses this week, for example, we had to do quite a bit of tree felling in order to open some of the gun stands. Quite a lot of wood was felled and the logs were shared out between the helpers. I came home with the back of my truck filled with some seriously good burning wood. 

Like many of the beaters and, of course the "pickers up", I get the greatest pleasure out of being able to work my dog. To my mind there is nothing quite like working a decent dog in the fields and woods of the English countryside. Beating gives the dog owner an opening for dog work when, otherwise, getting permission from a landowner or farmer can be(understandably) quite difficult. Most gamekeepers encourage well behaved dogs as they can save a lot of time and effort when it comes to flushing birds from thick hedges, brambles and all manner of other difficult terrain. Having trained my lurcher to respect poultry and not to bother them, I now have to teach him that pheasant and partridge although, of course feathered, are perfectly ok to be flushed and made to fly. Thursday, on the work day, was the first time Bertie had encountered pheasants, lots of them. Somehow he seemed to know that there was a difference with these birds and pretty quickly developed an interest in them. Luckily I was able to let him have a couple of runs at the odd pheasant before the day was over and he didn’t disappoint. 

The forecast for our first day isn’t good so I am hoping the forecasters are wrong and the rain keeps off. The cold doesn’t matter but getting soaked, especially before lunch, is pretty miserable and makes the day seem a whole lot longer. Last season was a very good one and we got away with very little rain and most of it later on in the day so here’s hoping. More to follow later.

Rabbits

Those people who have read my articles in the past might well have concluded that I have a bit of a soft spot for the humble rabbit. Having said that, I have hunted, shot and ferreted rabbits throughout most of my life but I have missed seeing the little blighters hopping around. Having moved, fifteen years ago, to an area in Dorset which didn’t seem to have a rabbit in sight I had all but given up any hope seeing them around. Well, lo and behold, about two years ago I went out as usual to feed the horse and there, at the bottom of my field, as bright as a button was a rabbit. This was cause for considerable excitement, the said rabbit stayed around and grandchildren were taken to see it and we were all highly delighted. However, my excitement was tempered with a large amount of caution as I was well aware we have a pretty healthy fox population in the area. Not least because the railway which passes some distance from us has a man-made embankment which is probably the best fox earth location for miles around. Quite apart from the fact that railways are no longer attended by gangers who once walked the lines and kept them trimmed and in good order, that embankment was constructed of fox friendly material and provided an obvious location for both foxes and badgers. There are few other banks in this area and the soil is a very heavy clay so not at all suitable for any animal that digs it’s home in the ground. This, I guess, is also the reason that there are few rabbits in these parts. 

Well, having lost numerous poultry to the fox over the years I didn’t hold out much hope for the survival of my rabbit. To my great joy, after several months, the rabbit was still around and then one morning there was rabbit number two. I do have a very large bramble thicket in the bottom corner of my field and both rabbits seemed to come and go from within its depths. The months rolled on and for the most part the rabbits kept appearing. There were periods of a few weeks when I saw nothing of them and then all of a sudden there they would be again. Then there were three. Not only have my bunnies avoided the fox but they have also avoided the dreaded myxy. 

Time moved on and the rabbits became a common sight. Then it was, as part of my ongoing garden development, I decided to construct a new flower bed. This was to be stocked with butterfly and bee friendly flowers of the cottage garden type. The new bed was to go in a large area of garden to the rear of the house where my pond, polytunnel and Japanese garden are located. These are separated from the garden immediately bordering the house by a fence and big hedge so the area is quite secluded. The new bed was constructed and the plants in place, all nicely watered in and looking fine. Fine, that was, until about three days later when I went to inspect them only to find that with the exception of two or three, all plants had been eaten down to the ground. The truth dawned, my lovely little rabbits had eaten my plants. There was no question of shooting them, I had given the little devils sanctuary. Plan B was wire netting, this was put in place and the whole flower bed was now secure behind the fencing. I am happy to report that all plants recovered and are now, once again doing well. 

A few days later I planted some Curly and Black Kale in the polytunnel. Nice plants, very healthy and strong. A couple of days later I went into the tunnel to check that the plants had all taken only to find they had all been eaten off to soil level. It didn’t take long to find a hole in the side of the tunnel just about bunny size, the little devils had now gained entry and had before them was an array of veg and salads to gorge upon. The polytunnel is surrounded by a four foot wide raised bed in which, amongst, other things, Rhubarb grows. So, more wire was purchased and the complete outside of the tunnel fenced to a height of four feet. During the process of putting the wire up I almost stepped on one rabbit which was hiding beneath the Rhubarb leaves. Behind the polytunnel is an area where I had been depositing the soil removed from where the new, previously mentioned, hut is being built. This pile of soil is due to be used to create another flower bed. A few days ago I wandered down there to ponder over the shape and size of the proposed new bed only to find my rabbits had moved in. I now have my own rabbit warren, there are holes every where. Don’t you just love them. Sadly, I was talking to my neighbour at the Harvest Supper a few days ago and he told me his colony of rabbits had gone down with Myxy. His farm is opposite me and quite large, his rabbits are at the far end of his land which is quite a way from me so I am hoping the dreaded disease does not reach me, but I am not over optimistic. 

Books

As, I think, I have mentioned in a previous article I am an avid book collector. This all started many years ago in Kingsley when, having developed a keen interest in books at the village school, I began requesting books as gifts at Christmas and birthdays etc. My books were originally confined to volumes on rural matters but much later in life I developed an interest in food and cooking and so began my cookery book collection. I buy new books and, of course, the internet has transformed the way in which one is now able to access books from all over the world. 

But, my great passion ….my wife would say obsession …is second hand books. Where ever I go my first task is to establish if the town has a second hand book shop. In days gone by this was a fairly simple task, one just tracked down the local Bobby on the beat or traffic warden and, hey presto, directions were provided. Sadly, that is no longer the case, apart from the fact that many second hand book shops have disappeared, (Guildford for example once had two huge shops ), there are now so few Bobbies on the beat and traffic wardens are also gone. However, be that as it may, I am usually able to establish if or if not the place I happen to be visiting has a second hand bookshop, and off I go. Mrs. Y. and I have a well established system in place to ensure that these matters run reasonably smoothly. We agree a time and place at which to meet and she goes off around the shops and I head of to the bookshop. Usually with a cautionary, "don’t buy more than one book, we are running out of space". How negative can you get ! 

Having said that there has been a decline in second hand book shops, there is one glimmer of hope in the form of Oxfam. They have opened up quite a lot of such establishments in recent years. I suppose, as a charity, their outgoings are far less and they get their stock from donations. In these parts we have Oxfam second hand bookshops in Salisbury, Dorchester, Wells, Yeovil, Warminster and Taunton. In Bath there are two, together with a couple more operated by other charities. So all is looking quite healthy as far as I am concerned. 

The people who man the charity shops are usually very helpful and when they get to know an individual will often produce books from the back room which may be of interest.

Well, I hate to admit it, but Mrs. Y. has proved to be right, my book collection is in bad need of more space. There are a number of what, "she who must be obeyed", refers to, menacingly, as piles growing in corners of spare rooms and beside my armchair. I am frequently subjected to the rather rude remark, "oh no not more books" when I return home from a successful expedition. 

My original log cabin, purchased at great expense, from B&Q many years ago is now full. Dare I say it, there are even odd "piles" of books within its walls. So it was, a couple of weeks ago, having had my usual ear bashing about the dreaded piles of books in the house, I casually suggested it might be a good idea to build another cabin. To my great surprise my suggestion was met with agreement, the only questions were, where would it be put and how long would it take to build ? Fortunately, ground is not a problem and there was a fairly obvious area beneath a large tree to the right of the garden, in which little would grow. This met with approval and, I think, will work well as it is almost directly opposite the original cabin. However, this time I am going to design and build the cabin myself with the aid of a friendly builder /handyman whom I employ at weekends to help me with all sorts of tasks. I spent yesterday going through the plans with him and between us we appear to have come up with a rather fetching plan for the new book room. We are even going to include a veranda upon which I hope to recline in peace and harmony with a book, glass or two and a wife who will have no cause to use the dreaded "pile" word ever again. On the face of it the cost of such a venture is likely to be a fraction of the cost of the original B&Q structure. I will keep you posted !.