In which Owen and his mate make the most of some shooting rights to bring home overflowing game bags...
Hello Ole Partners,
My gardening tips this month:
Keep bird feeders and water dishes full. Remember to wash them regularly to reduce the chance of disease
Cover your outside tap and put hoses in the shed to avoid the chance of frost damage and potential leaks
Clean your tools and greenhouse ready for next year
If you are growing sprouts for Christmas remove any yellowed leaves so fungal diseases don’t get a hold
Rake up leaves in beds and borders as they can harbour pests and slugs.
One year in the mid to late 1940s I did long turns in the lambing pens for the then owner of Shrubbery Farm in Carleton Rode and, as a bonus, he allowed me the shooting rights on his 200 acre farm. The only proviso the farmer made was that I should share my game bag with him at the end of the day. Well, times were hard in Norfolk then; fresh meat was still rationed and nowhere near as readily available as it is today. I was not about to turn my nose up at the chance to fill our family's cooking pot and perhaps make a shilling or two from birds I could sell on to other hungry people, even if it did mean giving him half of what I shot, so I agreed to this deal. Times are different now and you must remember I was shooting to eat, not for sport.
Details from the Shrubbery Farm Auction Catalogue, 1971
The one thing I lacked was a good gun dog but I had the perfect solution in my mate Fred, someone I had known from my childhood growing up in Bunwell. To be honest, we did not have that much in common really other than both enjoying a good day out with our guns but we got on well. Fred's labrador was used to being loaned out on shoot days and enjoyed his work so much he would follow just about anyone with a gun! The other advantage in getting Fred to accompany me was that he could drive and had his own vehicle, an old and noisy V-8 Ford - much better than me having to ride my trusty bicycle. I checked if the farmer was happy for me to bring Fred along and permission was given happily.
Both of us were known for being good shots and we proceeded to have a wonderful afternoon (in those days I worked a half-day on a Saturday so I had already done several hours of labour). The dog was brilliant and nosed out anything we shot that fell out of sight. At one point a bird Fred shot fell into a meadow over Shrubbery Farm's border. I knew the owner of that other farm and felt sure he would not mind if I stepped on his land so I walked off with Fred's labrador following happily behind me. It took a while but the dog did not give up and, around 20 minutes later, my ex-GPO mailbag - repurposed as a gamebag - had another cock pheasant in it.
The heavy clay soil of the farm became extremely difficult to walk as the ever increasing load of our game bags weighed us down. By 3.30pm we had eight brace (16) birds safely tucked away in our bags. It was time to call it a day and drive back to see the farmer. Before we did that though I told Fred I would hang my gamebag up in the hedgerow. Fred knew what I was about and did not question me. Off we went to the farm house.
"I heard so many shots today the two of you must have overflowing bags" said the very happy looking farmer.
I shook my head sadly. "I'm afraid Fred was having a very off day and hardly managed to hit a tailfeather, he just wasted a lot of cartridges" I told him. "I was relatively lucky and Fred's old dog was on top form though, so we have two brace for you."
I let him take his pick of the birds in our one bag and he seemed happy with the four he chose. After a few more convivial words and cheerful goodbyes we set off in the V-8 back to the hedgerow to collect the other, overflowing, bag from where it was hanging on an oak tree before heading home. Now, you may feel that what we did was immoral, but I felt justified because I had put in many hours of overtime with the lambs that year and my hard work had paid off with some of the best lambs the farm had ever produced; all had fetched a very high price at market. Somehow, the farmer had 'forgotten' to pay me my lambing bonus and I saw this as a way of redressing the imbalance. Never cross a James!
My mother was extremely happy with what I took home and we had a very tasty meal or two from my haul. Those were often hard but frequently happy days.
Until next time, moined 'ow yer go.
(I should mention I told this story to my relative Mark Lorne originally and, thanks to him, it was printed in the Shooting Times a few years back)
As printed in the Wymondham Magazine, Dec 2021
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