THE FIELD FROM THE ARCHIVES

A windy partridge day in West Sussex. The Field, 22 October 1964

Seven or eight years ago, fewer than 40 brace of partridges were shot in a season at North Farm, Washington, West Sussex. Things are very different now. In the 1960s, the average bag has been up to 500 brace in a season, and when a guest has had a chance to poke round and ask questions this spectacular improvement does not surprise him. All schemes and methods, both sporting and agricultural, at North Farm, whose chairman and owner is Mr J Goring, come under the keen eye of the managing director, Mr Christopher Hunt. If the said guest happened to be somewhat lazy and stupid, a few days in the refreshing and invigorating company of Mr Hunt would banish these doubtful qualities.

Much downland has been reclaimed and cultivated and the shoot covers 4,000 acres, of which 2,500 are farmed, corn being gathered by combines designed specially for mountaineering. There are, too, the succulent, ‘oven-ready’ turkeys that, if we may say so, compete with the game to be the apples of Mr Hunt’s eye. Last, but a long way from being least, is the Friesian dairy herd.

The stock of partridges has been built up by careful application of the principles so well demonstrated by the Game Research Authorities at Fordingbridge. The hardest work and the best will, however, can accomplish little in the face of cold coming at the critical time. One or two rearing seasons of bad weather close together bring all the work and effort to next to nothing. Nevertheless, if it were possible for all the manors and farms in Britain to follow the precepts of the experts at Fordingbridge, the laments so often heard today over the disappearance of the partridge would be less frequent.

It is, of course, not difficult for the idle or the ignorant, such as your correspondent, to make these facile observations, but they were confirmed on Friday, 9 October by several of the knowledgeable guests assembled to shoot that day, including Mr J Nickerson – who, if anybody, should know – our host, Mr Goring, and Mr Hunt.

The detailed and onerous work of building up and maintaining the stock not only of partridges but of pheasants is shared by Fred Allen and Reg Pierce. They are helped by Robert Largen, who is learning the art. Of the 4,000 acres, Pierce has half and Allen and Largen the other half, as well as the responsibility for rearing. The employees on the estate have a keen interest and nearly all of the beaters come from their ranks. There is, in fact, a splendid team working closely together to provide the game and to send it over the Guns. If one thing more than another has contributed to their success it is intensive trapping.

All at North Farm is on a scale that is in keeping with a big country: large, austere and strictly functional farm buildings clustered below a sweep of downland; swarms of partridges and pheasants; great flocks of white turkeys to be caught up in due time; vast bins and dryers to take tons and tons of corn, and nothing thought of bringing in 300 or more acres for one drive only.

Partridges had had just enough time to gobble their breakfasts when shooting began at the Pest House stand at seven minutes past nine. The weather was dry, cool and quiet and the light bad and indifferent. A horrible forecast and ominous grey clouds massing over the coast made no promise for a whole day’s shooting. Near this ground, long ago, villagers with the plague on them were brought to the Pest House and shut in to die. The house is now two cottages, and whether the inhabitants see ghosts or not is doubtful. The dark clouds slowly putting out the sun and the lonely feel of the valley resulted in some sombre thoughts here.

The partridges did not like the look of things, either, and must have sensed the skill and experience waiting for them in the line of Guns standing on the slope with the crest of the Down some 100 yards away and above them. Covey after covey came forward, only to swing left of the line and just out of shot. Here again, it seemed as if the birds lacked crackle. Perhaps at this stand there was a larger proportion of home-reared birds in their first season, which were bemused and for whom conditions were novel.

Six drives were taken before luncheon. After the Pest House there were North Farm Bank, Valley Field, Well Bottom, The Hump and Old Harry’s Field. Alas, there is no bizarre tale or spine-chilling legend of Old Harry. In all this shooting three things impressed greatly. First, the skill and cunning in the way in which the birds were brought forward. Downland partridges sweep on and must surely be more recalcitrant than those in proper arable country. Such wind as there was seemed all over the place until it increased and settled from the south late in the morning. Everything was on the verge of being difficult and tricky, yet Guns never had long to wait before a fine show of birds came to them. Second, the superb siting of the stands. Nearly every bird was very well up and provided lovely shooting.

At The Hump, several coveys were out of shot. Valleys, of course, make it easier; and one suggests, perhaps wrongly, that it is not quite so difficult for a reasonably competent shot to kill partridges that are much higher and come to him a little less surprisingly than those that speed over the contours of the ground and suddenly burst, not 20ft up, over a thorn hedge and almost into his face. The third impression of consequence was the accuracy of the shooting. Even if most of the coveys were high in the air there are usually plenty of odd birds, either scattering from coveys or on their own, which come at all angles, rising and falling and curling. If the bag was not as big as it might have been, then weather, not Guns, was the reason, and the weather caught up with us with a vengeance.

“PLENTY OF ODD BIRDS COME AT ALL ANGLES, RISING AND FALLING AND CURLING’”