Manners Maketh Gun

Young Guns may delight in eye-wiping someone else’s bird, but with experience comes a newfound altruism, says Blue Zulu

Poor old Marie Antoinette. If she’d spent more time gassing with real French shepherdesses rather than dressing up as one, perhaps she might have avoided her appointment with Madame Guillotine. But the protocols of Court and its intricate rituals meant her exposure to the smellier realities of rural life made it almost impossible.

I was pondering her existence and the complexities of etiquette while waiting for the first bird to appear on a dank December day with a mixed team of Guns — some young, some old, a few novices and a handful of experienced bods; not an unusual mix on a farmer’s family day.

To my left was a teenager, to my right a chap who’d once been a deadly despatcher of game but was now rather slow off the mark. In such company, what would be the correct form in selecting birds?

It is a question that would never have arisen when I first shot those acres with my host. Then we were all chaps in our 20s, the race was to the swift, and “shoot early to avoid disappointment” was our mantra. Nothing gladdened our wicked hearts more than dropping a bird at our neighbour’s feet and we became expert at waiting for the exact moment when the victim was raising his barrels before nobbling what was incontrovertibly his bird. We delighted in the eye-wipe and would make a point of recalling it in full detail at the end of the drive.

But with the softening of age we have changed our attitudes towards shooting driven game. We are still up and at ’em with wild partridges and grouse, but with reared game our etiquette has changed. A bird drawing across our bows, once given a dose of Mr Eley’s finest, is now left if it might present a more sporting opportunity to our neighbours. And unless a bird is coming directly to us we tend to think it might belong to a neighbour and call it his or hers.