A toast to good help

Peter White is under pressure to deal with a family of magpies on his 200-acre rough shoot after a tip-off from his unofficial gamekeeper

Ipay my gamekeeper every other Friday night in the tap room of the Drum and Monkey. He is to be found, with monotonous regularity, studying his hand of dominoes in a never-ending game of five and threes.

Outside in the shed, which stands on one side of the inn yard, he tidily stacks his working tools; obviously his barrow, shovel and broom are clearly stamped with the name of the county council.

A pint of old and mild settles my fortnightly account and in return the old boy gives a full report of any activity that may have occurred on my 200-acre rough shoot that borders his stretch of the highway. It intrigues me how he manages to do a first-class job on his road, for it is always as spick and span as a newly swept farm kitchen, and yet he succeeds in never missing even the smallest incident that takes place on the shoot. I feel sure that were he to miss a solitary pheasant’s nest, or fail to ascertain where every hare is couching, he would refuse to take his very inadequate remuneration.

Last week, he was put out because he had found a nest of four young magpies and two old birds, and had omitted to note their arrival on the shoot. He had a few theories of how “they varmits” had bested him and laid most of the blame on the owner of a rough dingle half a mile away.

It was obvious that he expected me to despatch said varmints in double-quick time and, not willing to lose his services, I made haste to take a quiet walk round with the gun the following morning. With a bit of luck, the culprits would be vanquished and my gamekeeper’s honour avenged. I had details of their normal activities and knew that more often than not they were to be found messing about round three overgrown thorn hedges at the bottom of a neglected dingle.

I had hopes that at this stage the young ones might be a trifle gullible and pay the penalty before they had time to gain the valuable experience of self-preservation.

After sneaking from the road down the side of a thick hedge, I waited patiently for half an hour while a strain of gnat closely related to the pterodactyl devoured the tips of my ears. I had the feeling my efforts were going to be sadly lacking in reward and I ached to have a go at a half-dozen rabbits I noted from my vantage point, out along one hedge, as well as a fair number of pigeon in the field on the far side of the dingle.

I was sorely tempted to tackle those pigeon, but even as I weakened, my attention was drawn again to the dingle by the distress calls of a couple of blackbirds and

I was just in time to see a black-andwhite gentleman disappearing into the top of a leafy oak.

A quiet stalk put me within 40 yards of the tree and then an old bird and two young departed noisily from the far side of the oak. When visible, they were all of 80 yards away, flying in that cheeky manner so typical of the magpie.

One had stayed behind and seemed to be answering their calls, no doubt with “sit tight in the cover and the so-and-so will never see you”. He was so right, for eventually I moved under the tree and met with no success until the other old bird, who had undoubtedly missed all the commotion, flew in to join the odd man. A movement and I had them both in line — and that was two of them gone.

I was surprised to find there was another young one in the tree. He received a long left that made him waggle his tail as he hurriedly joined the surviving members of his family down a thorn hedge. So there were still four to go.

The next stalk nearly failed, owing to the inquisitive nature of a herd of bullocks, but, as luck would have it, one of the disturbed

“I was just in time to see a black-andwhite gentleman disappearing into the top of an oak”

“A pint of old and mild settles my account and the old boy gives a full report of activity on my shoot”

“As luck would have it, a disturbed magpie virtually committed suicide by flying back over my head”

“One in the tree received a long left that made him waggle his tail as he joined his family in a hedge”