Mrs Down's Diary December 24 2008

There is plenty of cover in the pens and for the first week John leaves them alone to get used to the feeders and drinkers in the pen and accustom themselves to the sounds and sights of their surroundings. Then they are gradually trickled out into the thickets and plantations where the pens are, in the hope that the birds will settle in the area. He is not looking to provide partridges for shooting, but to re-establish greys in the area.

Of course, he is a keen shooting man, but he, like all of his friends who he shoots with, are as committed to conserving wildlife and providing habitats as any eco-warrior or anti. And , they actually do something about it. In John's case by planting hundreds of trees around the farm to provide shelter for wildlife.

His favourite trees, far and away, are oaks. One particular specimen tree, a red oak, we are very proud of. It is a poignant symbol, as it stands over the ashes of the son of one of our dearest friends. A tree surgeon, we planted the oak in his memory, and it flourishes and stands tall; as did Nick. This autumn, our oaks dropped thousands of acorns, and it was my mention of these, that drew a letter about not only the oaks on our farm, but also, about how at one time in the thirties, partridge were in such abundance, that they were the only game birds on shooting days.

The estate beaters, bussed in "in an old square cornered bus" drove the partridge to the guns through shoulder high kale. Waterproofs were unheard of in those days and the beaters were only protected by railway sacks. Mr Hardy, my correspondent, had to mark the birds, take care of the dogs, cartridge bags and whims of the Captain Lloyd he was loading for.

"At the end of each drive the gamekeeper attempted to find the marked birds, but by then they were a hundred miles away, as were most of the others." The remaining partridges had plenty of kale to settle in and, after the drive over the guns, they (the guns) just turned round and the birds were driven back over them again.

How things change. No kale and very few partridges, despite our beetle banks, two metre margins around arable fields and release pens. Most havoc has been played with ground nesting bird's chicks by the dreadful wet summers of the past two years.

Still, how grand to hear about how it once was. At the end of young Mr Hardy's days loading, he snoozed in the back of Captain Lloyd's V8 shooting brake, while Captain Lloyd ate his dinner in a grand station hotel. Half a crown safely tucked away in his pocket until next shooting day.