Shooting Times & Country Magazine
A turn for the worse
Etiquette in the ending of a life is important. Alan Child recalls times when correct form was not followed, with unexpected results
When things don’t go quite to plan
The efficient and humane despatch of wounded birds is an essential aspect of the proper conduct of any shoot day. Some years ago on an estate where I led the picking-up team, the regular Guns were complemented by two or three guests. The first drive of the day was from a large pit where a significant number of mallard had been released. The keeper had decided to flush them to give the Guns some instant shooting and had prefaced the drive with a reminder to pick out the good birds as this was the first time they had been lifted from the water. Sure enough, the Guns had plenty to shoot at and the whistle to end the drive was soon blown.
What happened next is as vivid in my memory as it was on the day in question. One of the guest Guns was seen to sprint some 15 yards across the field to collect a wounded drake mallard, which was waddling its way towards a thick hawthorn hedge. He scooped up the bird with the dexterity of a first-class county cricketer but then proceeded to despatch the bird by holding its head and swinging it around at a high rate of revolutions.
The keeper, not known for his diplomatic finesse, spotted this action and screamed an order to cease. The Gun clearly did not hear the warning and continued to rotate the duck. By the time the keeper had covered the ground and was within 10 yards of the Gun, the worst possible outcome had occurred: the duck had been decapitated.
I believed that the Gun was in grave danger, as the keeper seemed poised to strike and probably decapitate him. Fortunately, all that ensued was the public disgrace meted out to the Gun as the keeper picked up the disconnected body of the duck, demanded the head and, with exaggerated gestures, held both at arm’s length and announced in strident tones that if he saw anyone seek to despatch a bird in this manner he would wring their neck.
As the Guns gathered to climb into the shoot trailer there was a strange silence and I like to think that those who pretended to adjust their ties were actually recalling the keeper’s ominous words.
A bird in the hand
No such embarrassment happened on my own shoot last season. However, one of my novice pickersup, who has a lively cocker bitch, provided another memorable moment. I offer all my beaters and pickers-up hazel sticks, flags or priests. This particular picker-up opted for one of the professionally made priests.
“The picker-up drew her priest and seemed to take an age deciding on the direction and force to apply”
On the third drive of the day, she was delighted when her dog retrieved a hen pheasant that had been shot by her husband. The bird was well hit but still had sparks of life as she took it from the dog. She carefully positioned the bird in her left hand so the bird’s head protruded from her closed fist. She drew her priest from her pocket and seemed to take an age deciding on the direction and force to apply.
Dancing like a dervish
Finally, she raised her arm and struck down with what spectators agreed was a free-flowing but deliberate action. Rather than a despatched pheasant ready to be braced up, the air was filled with an ear-splitting scream; the pheasant fell to the ground and crouched low in the grass and the picker-up was dancing like a dervish, waving her hand in the air as if to shake it loose.
A fellow beater rushed across to discover that the priest had inflicted a very nasty gash on the base of her thumb and a swelling like a hen’s egg was already forming. Meanwhile, another beater despatched the fallen pheasant with the alacrity and finesse borne of years of experience.
It was one of those moments when the audience has a choice of reaction: display immense sympathy for the victim and commiserate or enjoy a good laugh at the victim’s plight. It was the latter reaction that triumphed and, once the initial pain had subsided, the victim was also able to laugh at her ineptitude. No one could explain how on earth she had managed to miss an easy target at such a short distance, but one wag suggested it would make excellent advertising material for a well-known provider of spectacles.
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