Trip down memory lane

[getthegat]

The woodies are still interested in a local large bean stubble field, so I decided to give it another go this morning, but to add a twist or two, I pulled out my late Uncle Georges 1965 Franchi 48 AL to give it an airing. Also due to nearly getting the truck stuck last Saturday, I cut my kit down to 6 FUDs, 2 shells with Dippas, no net, no poles, no magnet, no seat, just food and water for Soph and a 10" machete, just like the old days before internet and dekoy gizmos and when money was even tighter than today. We walked about 1/2 mile to the furthest hedge where there is a reasonable flight line, built a quick rough hide with local folliage and set out my decoy pattern. There were lots of birds about, but being a huge field it is a bit of pot luck if one gets a good few hours or not. The first 3 went down perfectly with one more hit hard and unable to be picked from a large bramble hedge a hundred yards away. The sun was straight out front, which after a while became to bright, so we moved to a second position further up the rise in the field and with the sun over my right shoulder. The hide was hastily relocated in the new spot and a few more birds fell to the old GAT. Some very close high electricity wires meant the birds would often slow and climb over them, making a higher shot but slower target. One fell so close I could have caught it. Another fell behind us over a large hedge and Soph did an excellent retrieval having only heard it hit the ground, with a totally blind find. She needed a drink but as she hadn't had her breakfast, I still didn't have a container ( I use one tupaware to do both jobs, she has dry food) so I put her biscuits in my coat pocket which was lying on the ground in the hide, and she promptly eat them out of my pocket ? then had some well deserved water. Things slowed around 8.30 and I kept thinking I'll call it a day, but I am terrible at wanting one last bird. A low one flashed from behind us and I took him up the butt at 35 yards, then a second came high over the cables and with about 4 feet of lead he drop dead with a head shot, at an estimated 45 - 50 yards! Wow, I couldn't believe it. Uncle George would have been well impressed and hopefully he was up there watching. The old GAT is pretty narly, with a lot of paint missing, a welded breach, (cheers Wabbitbosher) couple cracks in the wood work and has probably had half a million shells through it since 1965. We packed up at 9.00ish with 9 birds picked and 2 or 3 lost. As I was walking back, I counted the empty loops in my cartridge belt and found just 13! My percentage has never been so good and now being back on a semi auto, my confidence has improved massively, mind you my general emotional state is better, with stress levels far lower. So here's to you Unc, miss you terribly every day and cherish your old gun, even though I'll never be as good with it as you were.

[figgy]

Thoroughly enjoyed reading your write up of your day, was like reading a private journal entry of your nostalgia and fondness of spending time with your Uncle and shooting dog.

[getthegat]

Thanks very much for that. I didn't intend anything particular, but the gun brings back a most special time in my life, like my dear old Uncle, now sadly gone. I guess many people have that special someone  in their early lives and whether it's a dad, another relative or just a family friend, unbeknownst to us at the time,they help shape our future. At his funeral, the old gun was passed on to me and the emotions were so strong, I could barely take hold of it. I saw him the day before he left us and he was like the gun, battered and worn, but with that certain something that touched so many people in all things good. Only Wabbitbosher would entertain fixing The Gat and to me it was something I had to have done. The first weld broke after a few shots, so it was done a second time and today was the first proper test. It was originally a 5 shot, now modified to a 2 shot. When I was much younger and wheat was still baled into small oblongs and loaded by hand onto small farm trailers, we would go out on a Thursday afternoon after his work in his little village store was done and occasionally he would let me try the gun. It always felt big and powerful and slightly scarry, now it fits me really well and as today proves, I'm pretty good with it. Nearly 50 years ago life was simpler, honest, people shot to eat, grew veg and connected with the land and other human beings. Sometimes I can hardly believe the changes that have happened in my lifetime, but I'm rambling..........it was a great couple of hours this morning, with the old Gat and Soph.

[matone]

Nice write up of a good day out!

[Old Boggy]

Good write up of what was obviously a very enjoyable and nostalgic day.

Many thanks for sharing. 

OB

[7daysinaweek]

Quality ??

[deny essex]

Enjoyed reading your report, its not all about the numbers of birds down to enjoy your shooting, I too remember my late brother every time I shoot and go fishing.

He taught me how to and probably more than I can now remember .

P.S hope them dippas helped 

Edited September 2, 2018 by deny essex
addition

[bumpy22]

Great write up as said earlier by everyone else. Lost  a shooting mate recent and you dont realize how much fun was had till there gone. Keep up the good work with that special bang stick

[islandgun]

On 01/09/2018 at 16:23, getthegat said:

Thanks very much for that. I didn't intend anything particular, but the gun brings back a most special time in my life, like my dear old Uncle, now sadly gone. I guess many people have that special someone  in their early lives and whether it's a dad, another relative or just a family friend, unbeknownst to us at the time,they help shape our future. At his funeral, the old gun was passed on to me and the emotions were so strong, I could barely take hold of it. I saw him the day before he left us and he was like the gun, battered and worn, but with that certain something that touched so many people in all things good. Only Wabbitbosher would entertain fixing The Gat and to me it was something I had to have done. The first weld broke after a few shots, so it was done a second time and today was the first proper test. It was originally a 5 shot, now modified to a 2 shot. When I was much younger and wheat was still baled into small oblongs and loaded by hand onto small farm trailers, we would go out on a Thursday afternoon after his work in his little village store was done and occasionally he would let me try the gun. It always felt big and powerful and slightly scarry, now it fits me really well and as today proves, I'm pretty good with it. Nearly 50 years ago life was simpler, honest, people shot to eat, grew veg and connected with the land and other human beings. Sometimes I can hardly believe the changes that have happened in my lifetime, but I'm rambling..........it was a great couple of hours this morning, with the old Gat and Soph.

Great memories thanks for writing em down,  50 years ago I would have been the one chucking up the bales onto the trailer on a farm near Galleywood

cheers

Edited September 3, 2018 by islandgun

[getthegat]

They were good times. My farm helping was back in Somerset and payment was some rough homemade cider and farmer's wife lunch. In my early teens I was allowed to drive the Massey Ferguson tractor as the bigger stronger guys loaded the bales. Uncle George was always working, always helping someone in one of the local villages, growing runner beans to sell in the shop or when ever possible he was out ferreting or hunting game of one sort or another. One time he let me drive his dad's (my grandad) old mini van when I was only 14 and of course I bashed it, but he was cool about it all and probably said something like, how else will you learn. He got me into shotguns around the same time and looking back, I so wish I'd realized what he was instilling in me. His work ethic, love of life, appreciation of the country and the wonders it has to offer to those that can see it........it's with me still all these years later. Thank you for your kind words and taking the time to read my ramblings of my past.

[Walker570]

Great story and one I can relate to. I still have my Grandfathers old BSA sidelock 12 gauge and although it has a few bumps and bings to the woodwork and the bluing has rubbed off after over 70yrs of use, I still take it out once a season and it brings back many happy memories of a childhood during those years just after WW2, dozens of coveys of wild grey partridge in the mangols and turnip fields or bursting from the potatoe rows as my little legs struggled to keep up with the line.  Thank you very much for bringing back those memories and hope you continue to have the same.

[marsh man]

A great post and thoroughly enjoyed reading it , I am sure several of the members who are pushing on a bit and spent there life in the countryside can relate to the start of there shooting career being taught by true countrymen like your uncle .

I was mad on wild fowling and spent all my free time from school and a lot of the time when I should had been at school talking to the old boys who still shot wildfowl to help with the family income as a lot of today's benefits were unheard of , to begin with you didn't get a lot of information from them but as time wore on and they could see how keen you were they then started to soften up a bit , one old boy who was one of the last punt gunners would let me help him to lift his punt gun from his punt and put it on two brackets in the boat shed , you imagine a 13 year old school boy walking up the staging planks with a punt gun barrel resting on his shoulder , sheer bliss .

I eventually got my own punts and ended up renting the boat shed next door to this punt gunner by now his time was nearly up and sadly punt gunning was abolished when the estuary was made into a nature reserve in 1968 .

Another chap I knew was our coal man , the poor old boy didn't have a lot of meat on him and yet he used to put a hundred weight of coal on his back and walk it all the way down our back passage and tip it in our coal house , he often used to see my shot birds hanging up when he brought the coal and one day we were having a yarn when he said the next time you have a go at the lew ( Curlew ) I wont mind coming and having a bang with you , I knew he done a lot of punt gunning in his time so I was only to please to have his company the next time I went .

Well the night arrived when there was going to be a big tide up and most of the estuary would be under water except some salting's known as the Lumps , when he turned up he had an old working jacket on and a home made game bag slung over his shoulder , his armament  for the night was a double under lever ten bore , anyhow I rowed across the channel , passed through the old swing bridge and made my way where we still had a bit of cover , I stuck about a dozen Curlew silhouettes decoys out and then sat in the boat to wait for any action , I still remember the first one that swung past the decoys still well out of range for my 12 bore , this old boy pulled back the hammers and with one shot the first one had hit what little mud was left , and to cut a long story short , if my memory serve me well he shot five on the night with six shots , this as far as I know was the last time he took that gun out and it wasn't long after his time was finally up , all I hope , which I am sure he did , enjoyed the night as much as I did .

 

[getthegat]

Wow! Stunningly atmospheric. Lovely story. I could picture it perfectly, the way you wrote that. Definitley from the heart. Thank you for sharing with us.

I never did wildfowling, but knew people similar to your coal man. My dad was a coal man, and collected the milk churns from farms at one time, as well as working for the forestry commission.

I didn't realize curlew were hunted.

I'm not sure if it's true, but the tiny village I come from was supposed to have got its name because of the curlew that frequented the area, it's called Curland and is near the Somerset levels, which is a great wading bird place, so it could be true perhaps.

The ten bore gun and punt gun must have been a great piece of history to have seen and experienced, as you say, no longer with us. Punt gunning must have taken real skill and patience, and not seen as sport, but another necessity to put food on the table.

My dad had this old rifle, a .22 Martini or Greener I believe, with some Prismatic sites that he bought from Exchange and Mart for 7 shillings and six pence; of course it was way too small a bullet and illegal, but sometimes he would take me deer stalking in the local woods, as sometimes it would be the only food on our table, as well as on our neighbors table; a risk that had to be taken occasionally. Maybe that's why I eat what I shoot and hate seeing birds wasted. Cheers again for the memories, may they always continue. 

Edited September 3, 2018 by getthegat
Grammar

[Mice!]

some great memories being shares, I'll bet those 9 pigeon felt better than a 90 ?? 

[marsh man]

On 03/09/2018 at 23:18, getthegat said:

Wow! Stunningly atmospheric. Lovely story. I could picture it perfectly, the way you wrote that. Definitley from the heart. Thank you for sharing with us.

I never did wildfowling, but knew people similar to your coal man. My dad was a coal man, and collected the milk churns from farms at one time, as well as working for the forestry commission.

I didn't realize curlew were hunted.

I'm not sure if it's true, but the tiny village I come from was supposed to have got its name because of the curlew that frequented the area, it's called Curland and is near the Somerset levels, which is a great wading bird place, so it could be true perhaps.

The ten bore gun and punt gun must have been a great piece of history to have seen and experienced, as you say, no longer with us. Punt gunning must have taken real skill and patience, and not seen as sport, but another necessity to put food on the table.

My dad had this old rifle, a .22 Martini or Greener I believe, with some Prismatic sites that he bought from Exchange and Mart for 7 shillings and six pence; of course it was way too small a bullet and illegal, but sometimes he would take me deer stalking in the local woods, as sometimes it would be the only food on our table, as well as on our neighbors table; a risk that had to be taken occasionally. Maybe that's why I eat what I shoot and hate seeing birds wasted. Cheers again for the memories, may they always continue. 

Interesting with the reason behind your village name , could well be true with it being a great place for wading birds .

Our village at one time was a island and is called Cobholm , when I went to a village meeting somebody asked why it was called Cobholm and this historian said it was the home of the Swan with the male Swan called a Cob and home was then known as Holm , on the village sign there is a windmill with a Swan sitting on a nest at the bottom .

We could shoot five different waders up till around 1980 , they were Curlew , Whimbrel , Red Shanks , Grey Plover  and Godwits , getting on terms with them was like a wild fowling apprenticeship , you learnt how to call them , walk them up in the drains , waiting at flight time and decoying them on the saltings , all were edible early on during the season but as time wore on and fed on the mud flats, they were then better left alone , a sad day though when they came off the shooting list .