ANOTHER PASSION






Countryside elegance...... and it snowed!


 Having returned the last trials bike after the 1978 SSDT it was time to find something else to do
at the weekends, but what exactly? No, I wasn't going to be an observer as for me the fun of trials
had gone. The 1978 SSDT was the most miserable affair, perhaps had I not ridden it my mind
would have been different but when you are not enjoying something its time to quit. The sections
were way too hard for the average or even above average clubman, the game was far too
professional and the normal riotous fun in the town's bars had gone. In fact if you were up at 10
at night you were on your own and could walk into the results room without being trampled under
foot. You could actually SIT at the bar!




The Last Lancaster Bomber

 One day I'm over at the Battle of Britain Flight to entertain two visitors when I bump into one of
lifes characters the unsinkable " Christopher Hackett "..... initially it was difficult to know whether
this individual was for real or just a complete buffoon.

 While showing him round the hangar, the Lancaster bomber, 5 Spitfires of different marks and the
last two Hurricanes he looks at one of the Spits and says "Any chance of a quick trip?"
"?????"
"No Sir, these all belong to the Royal Air Force and are for airshows only"
"Well, if you won't let me fly one I'll just have to buy one"
"Of course Sir"

 Later on we take him to the Officer's Mess for lunch but explain that as he is not correctly attired
we can only use the Sportsman's Bar. Well Mister Hackett only drinks cider or "Fizz" ..... a new one
on me but this is uppercrust slang for Champagne. Mister Hackett wants to buy everybody a drink
but we explain that's not the way it works and we will provide. A little later while replenishing
glasses he comes over to the barman and pulls out a huge roll of bank notes, he has rolls of the
stuff, one pocket full of 20's another 10's and about 500 in loose change in fivers!


 We finish lunch and escort Hackett to his waiting car where he insists that two of us come over to
his estate for "a spot of pheasant shooting" ..... we accept his offer and he is on his way. We
thought that was the end of it but just how wrong can you be?


 An invitation arrives addressed to "The two nice Squadron Leaders" with all the details and
where we will be staying. We duly arrive at this wonderful hotel in Leicestershire and bags are
whisked off to rooms and we are told whatever we want it's on Mister Hackett, who will join us at
6 p.m. So following our instructions we meet in the bar and await the arrival of Hackett.

 The owner of the hotel, Jeremy, who is also a member of the shooting syndicate gives us a
briefing on what to expect, and from what we are told this could be a pretty outrageous weekend!
Hackett arrives and after the usual pleasantries tells Jeremy to start with a couple of bottles of
"Fizz". 2 ice buckets on stands are brought in and the two corks are popped and the lunacy
commences. The bar fills and as it does more and more ice buckets appear until there are about
20 high rollers and their ladies swilling champagne at the same rate that I would normally drink
beer!




Arrival at the farm

 Saturday, the day of the shoot, we arrive for the pre shoot libations and drawing for "pegs". It
seems that this farm will not hold pheasants too well and they all clear off onto Chris's brothers
farm who won't allow him anywhere near his land (another family fued). So Chris has his own
inland Mallard which stay on the farm and are fed on the upper meadow and this will be the grand
spectacular showcase drive just before lunch.




The First Drive

 The early drives produce a reasonable number of pheasants but from what we are told no matter
what Chris does in terms of holding crops and sheltered copses these birds just fly off to his
brother's woods never to be seen again.

 Back to the farm and a few more drinks and now time for the Grand Slam, so while beaters are
sent to their posts and flagmen are positioned by the ponds the guns are given their positions on
the hillside. Those of limited ability go to the top and are then graduated down the hillside to the
best shots who will stay close to the farm.



The Chosen few to stay by the Farm

 A tractor and trailer appears with 15 beaters on the back and then wends it's way up the track
at the far end of the hillside and as it does ducks appear from everywhere and follow the tractor
like the Pied Piper!

 The breifing is "no matter how many ducks you see, DO NOT FIRE until you hear the WHISTLE"

 The drive begins and first groups of 4 come over the top of the hill followed by waves of 20-30,
then the sky darkens and its wall to wall ducks! ..... and the Whistle blows........


 Now this is difficult shooting as just when you swing on a bird a more attractive target comes
into view. The secret like all forms of "Wing" or "Driven" shooting is be selective!



That's my 19

 30 minutes and litterally hot barrels later the whistle goes again to signal the end of the drive.
I had 19 kills for 53 shots which I was told was well above the average for high ducks and one
young lad at the top of the hill had fired 98 cartridges for a ZERO score! I guess he's welcome
any time, especially by the ducks.




Change jackets .... and now for some serious Drinking!




A great Claret

 The big lunch follows with a huge beef and gallons of a superb claret....... and now they want to
go down to the village pub for some Guiness! 






With the "Host" one, Christopher Hackett







TONY DOWN   on location in Leicestershire




P.S.      ....... at an airshow somewhere in southern England Hackett turns up with a Pitts Special!
now this is a fully aerobatic toy and it's his. He says he went to buy a "Spitfire", as we wouldn't
let him fly ours, and took two suitcases full of cash with him to the auction. "Had to drop out at
200,000.00 pounds old boy, only had 180,000.00 with me!"

 That evening we are at the local airshow hotel when Hackett turns up and joins us in the bar.
Hackett asks the barman for a bottle of Fizz and gets the blank stare....
 "Champagne my man!"
 " Got a bottle of Moet Chandon Sir"
 "MOET CHANDON!!!........ only TARTS and FOOTBALLERS drink that!" and he peels off 200 pounds
and tells the barman,
 "Just pop along to the local off licence and get something good and keep the change"






TONY DOWN



HAPPY NEW YEAR


Don't forget those Oct/Nov Archives for some winter reading

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