The Shooting Party

Every year I join a shooting party in deepest Devon for what always turns out to be an endurance event. It starts in the pub on a Thursday night, continues through a rough shoot on the Friday, a driven shoot on the Saturday and dinner at a local restaurant before the drive back feeling worse for wear on the Sunday.

A cup is awarded, usually for the most eccentric or outlandish behaviour, but occasionally for outstanding shooting. It is generally filled with a noxious combination of drinks for the lucky recipient.

High birds

This year it was won by one of our number who exceeded all expectations, accounting for two birds taken behind with a single shot from his small-bore. They were high too, so he did well.

He deserved his trophy, not only for that, but also for the way he took pity on a tatty old turkey, running wild, that one of the guns found in a hedgerow and carried in to the house.

It was an ugly, misshapen thing and smelled pretty gamy but our top gun did what he could for it, which wasn’t much, although no-one else would go near it.

No bird farm

Game shooters are often criticised for pursuing what many consider a cruel sport but at least this gun showed that there is a compassionate side to shooting. As we’re stuffing our turkey this year I will spare a thought for his intervention.

The Friday rough shoot at “No Bird farm” was particularly sparse: a jackdaw, a crow, two pigeons and a hen pheasant. But it's good to get out and particularly satisfying for those who like dogs.

Walnut-smashing

As I said, this is an endurance event, sometimes involving behaviour in a party of nine men that is childish in the extreme. How childish? Let me count the ways.

One year there was walnut-smashing with foreheads. There was arm wrestling, there were silly, drink-fuelled card games and there has been occasional throwing of eggs, even punches. Every year there is a particularly juvenile sport called hiding things.

Lord of the Flies

The whole weekend is like a not-so-grown-up version of “Lord of the Flies” where the pressure is on from the start and anyone betraying a weakness is going to suffer.

It takes me back to my school days when boys had the bumps on their birthday. I never went to boarding school but a few of our party did and it shows in flashes of boorish behaviour.

At least our cup-winner set an example this year. He has shown himself capable of handling the hardest of dogs, penetrating the thickest undergrowth to fetch a bird. Unlike some of the guns, he never complains, never forgets his manners, never boasts and is never ostentatious or chippy.

On the contrary he is quiet, unassuming, modest and extraordinary charitable. He wouldn’t like me to mention this but I know that he made a very generous donation to help hard-pressed families in the area when some collectors were doing the rounds one evening. It’s gestures like that that restore my faith in human nature.