The sacred rule of grouse

Invitations to family weddings, christenings or the godsprog’s 21st will all be trumped, says Jonathan Young, by a summons to the moor

To succeed in modern politics it’s vital to support a football team. The Leader of the opposition went as far as signing a parliamentary motion stating that “Arsenal is the best club football team in the world at the moment.” David Cameron has also declared his allegiance to the “beautiful game” but couldn’t quite remember back in 2015 whether he supported Aston Villa or West Ham. Blushes followed.

I don’t care whom our MPS espouse, though it would be splendid to hear that Jacob Rees-mogg whirrs his rattle for Hamilton Academical. I’ve never attended the footy having always had better things to do on a Saturday. Yet I was beguiled by the drama of the World Cup. our chaps seemed decent sorts playing a clean game against those seemingly keener on ju-jitsu and I came to admire the French, whose skills rightly won them the pot.

There was a soupçon of guilt about this Franco-amour as it’s not quite expected from les rosbifs. But the French do many things splendidly, from wine and cheese to art and haute couture. I admire their attitude to holidays especially. They shut up the national shop in August, open again in September and somehow the nation survives.

There was a time when our political classes took a similar view. The grouse season opened and parliamentarians headed north, returning south to the partridge manors when the grouse began to pack. That was understood and diaries were left empty. Today, it’s more complicated and we now live in dread of the electronic summons to some ghastly meeting. Some cannot be avoided, of course, but the marginals can be dealt with by invoking the sacred rule of grouse.

All my closest friends are sworn to uphold this rule in all circumstances. Invitations that are normally enforced with ferocity by our domestic chief whips – marriages, christenings, godsprogs’ 21sts – are waived aside by a flourish of a date with Lagopus lagopus scoticus. our reasoning is flawless: no true friend would ever manage his social arrangements so disastrously as to cause a chum to miss a day on the moors; therefore, the invitation cannot be binding.

The one drawback, if it can be described thus, is the length of the grouse season. Whilst the heaven-born are in the butts from The Twelfth – or rather The Thirteenth this year – and have their fortnight of purple heather, we lesser mortals seldom get the

It’s an extraordinary privilege to be asked at all but especially to address late-season grouse

call until later in the season – and that may mean into December,

It’s an extraordinary privilege to be asked at all but especially when it’s to address late-season birds. An August grouse can often be a daunting quarry, particularly if it’s from Derbyshire, which seems to breed a peculiarly skittish strain. But a grouse anywhere after mid September is always a challenge requiring maximum concentration to tumble into the peat. And what a complete joy when one manages to do it consistently.

I explained this to two friends back in spring. one had asked me to speak at his dinner in the third week of october. “Am delighted to do so under the condition of the sacred rule of grouse,” came my response. Happily, he accepted that and found another speaker – and two days later I had a grouse invitation for the same day.

The other was a long-standing friend who’s shot since boyhood but never raised his gun to a driven grouse. For the past five years we’ve had the same conversation over the pints. He longs to do so but is concerned by the price. Finally, in April, I told him: “None of us is getting any younger. You really want to do this so when, exactly, will be the right time for you?”

A few phone calls later and soon he will be heading up to the moors for an 80-brace day with seven other grouse virgins and their partners. It won’t be cheap but nor will it be expensive when divided by the 16 who will enjoy one of the most memorable days of their lives.

I can say that confidently as they’re all the type who appreciates the uncertainty of the game. Hopefully, there won’t be fog and the grouse will behave and spread across the line. But the dice can roll strangely on the moors.

Given the butts are sited on the birds’ natural flightlines there’s no guarantee that they will favour you. The keepers – may the Lord’s blessings be ever upon them – will do their damndest to push them through the middle but there will never be a loader’s knowing wink, as in pheasant shooting, that you have drawn a plum peg. An adverse wind, a covey rising early and gathering up the rest, and you can be a spectator much of the day while the gun two butts away is emptying his second bag of cartridges.

Even if the grouse do pile over your butt, success can be hard to grasp. With lowground shooting there’s usually plenty of time to see the bird and prepare for the shot. Sometimes that’s the case with grouse but often they simply materialise, even in a butt with a long horizon. The black dots grow larger then simply disappear into the folds of the moor, only to reappear 40yd out and hurtling towards you at 60mph. And on short horizon butts it’s even worse: there might only be 30yd of moor visible, which a grouse can cover in one second.

It’s this chanciness and demand on skill that makes grouse shooting so incredibly addictive and why every invitation is to be treasured. So if you’re invited to a wedding or similar this autumn, search your conscience for at least two sips of coffee – and then invoke the sacred rule of grouse.