Room for all of us

“Oh my goodness. What a charming little cartridge bag,” cooed the PR girl. I looked down then stole a few furtive glances at men around me. She was right. Theirs were much bigger. But I suppose it is because theirs are all about 50 decades newer. Mine would have been sufficient for your average day in the mid-1940s.

“Here comes another diatribe about the horror of big bags,” I hear you mutter. Yet the reality is, while I’m happier knocking down grouse over pointers than reaching for another box of squibs on drive six, big-bag days are entirely necessary.

In last week’s issue Michael Ford lamented the fact that shooting, once “a sport”, has been turned into a “commercial venture”

(Have your say, 7 June).

I disagree with the sentiment — it should be both. He is right that “no good shooting man” wants to see the complete eradication of pest species, but surely good shooting men want to see young keepers employed, estate coffers healthy and trickledown income brought into the rural areas we love?

If every little patch were managed as my favourite sort of shoot — a pootle about with spaniels and a pocketful of cartridges — the benefits of shooting would be negated dramatically. Don’t knock night vision and the modern keeper. This country is big enough for both of us. One large venture employing 12 beatkeepers controlling foxes has nothing to apologise for. Farther down the valley there will doubtless be a vixen bringing up her cubs and a canny stoat dashing beneath the hedgerow. That’s harmony.