Two days chasing the English ‘rocket ships'

We should no longer view grey partridges as quaint enigmas, says Richard Hardy, but as the result of positive nature-friendly farming

- Richard Hardy

I’ve spent the past 48 hours pursuing English partridges around my native Wessex. Yesterday, I was privileged to be on one of the hallowed partridge manors, standing atop a small hill and watching in awe as flankers and beaters linked across miles of sunburned stubbles. They cajoled almost unbelievable numbers of our little native rocket ships towards the distant line of waiting, invited Guns.

It was an ample and vivid demonstration of modern gamekeeping and land management in both art and science. Today the same boots are slightly more grounded, the army of employed hands replaced by panting spaniels and loyal terriers, what was thousands of acres is now barely 300 but with the same sweltering heat and the same ephemeral and enigmatic quarry centre stage.

My host for the second day was Tom, a mountain of a man with hands that could easily replace the bucket on the loader he was fettling as I trundled into the farmyard. A fine rugby player in his youth, he’s now running the family farming business, introduced to one and all as the “crumbling empire”. It consists of around 600 acres of combinable crops on rented land in addition to the 300-acre or so family farm and yet requires income from his London-based business to balance the books.

This home range is a conservation work in progress, but this year’s weather has been kind and Tom reports enough English greys on the ground to justify a few very small days of walked-up sport now harvest is over.