pheasants

Well living in the country one finds that country folk do things as everyday activites that city folk don’t. Going with country way now seems natural to me, has been for several years. When I was a teenager in a small town these were not part of my ken, but I now know maybe just a little bit more of the world and of course my priorities have changed

Being in the country one takes to country ways. I must admit they can be great. It is delightful to be back to the way life might be good and natural.  I know that it can be hard and stressful; maybe I am very lucky. Well I know I am extremely lucky to be where I am, doing what I am doing, when a lot of people and world around seems to be in a state of ideological madness.

Well as we have woodland and that there are shoots at the weekend on either side of us in the woods and open land, we have been asked about allowing the beaters on the land to sweep the birds away into the land where they can shoot.

Well now here is contention. I know shooting is seen as cruel by some. However I say to them, I would agree for sport and killing for the sake of it, but if it is for eating and controlled then I have no problem I suggest that if people are on their high horses on hunting as a form of cruelty, and I am sure in palces it might be, then maybe they should be aware of the cruelty of mass produced meat and the way of killing in the abattoir

So to get back to the story. The beater came around to ask if they could beat through the woods. I said we would give it a try and also because as part of the village it seemed good to assess and allow trails and not be in anyway judgemental of others activities until one knows the whole story. (As a sideline I was against fox hunting in principle until the city folks made it a law )(that I felt was against human rights, that phrase the pious go on about)) – what about the rights of others I said – so solely on the basis of freedom of rights I now support its legality – even though still do not like the idea, it is important in all areas to avoid fundamentalism).

Story line again: so after the shoot, as I was in the garden the beater came and presented me with two very dead pheasants. Complete with, of course, heads feet and feathers. Letting them hang for a few days then preparing them for the pot we are now looking forward to supper tonight. 

In the same vein I am sure many have tried to say sing the following song/poem on occasions.  I give it as a traditional aspect of jollity on this season of good will.

The Pheasant Plucking Song

I'm not a pheasant pluckier; I'm a pheasant plucker’s son

I'm only plucking pheasants 'till the pheasant plucker comes.

Me husband is a keeper, he's a very busy man

I try to understand him and I help him all I can,

But sometimes in an evening I feel a trifle dim

All alone, I'm plucking pheasants, when I'd rather pluck with him.

I'm not a pheasant plucker, I'm a pheasant plucker's mate

I'm only plucking pheasants 'cos the pheasant plucker's late !

I'm not good at plucking pheasants, at pheasant plucking I get stuck

Though some pheasants find it pleasant I'd rather pluck a duck.

Oh plucking geese is gorgeous, I can pluck a goose with ease

But pheasant plucking's torture because they haven't any grease.

I'm not a pheasant plucker, he has gone out on the tiles

He only plucked one pheasant and I'm sitting here with piles !

You have to pluck them fresh, if it’s fresh they’re not unpleasant,

I knew a man in Dunstable who could pluck a frozen pheasant.

They say the village constable had pheasant plucking sessions

With the vicar on a Sunday ‘tween the first and second lessons.

I'm not a pheasant plucker, I'm a pheasant plucker's mum

I'm only plucking pheasants 'till the pheasant plucker's come.

My good friend Godfrey is most adept, he's really got the knack

He likes to have a pheasant plucked before he hits the sack.

I like to give a helping hand, I gather up the feathers,

It's really all our pheasant plucking keeps us pair together.

I'm not a pheasant plucker, I'm a pheasant plucker's friend

I'm only plucking pheasants as a means unto an end !

My husband's in the forest always banging with his gun

If he could hear me half the time I'm sure that he would run,

For there's fluff in all my crannies, there's feathers up my nose

And I'm itching in the kitchen from my head down to my toes.

I'm not a pheasant plucker, I'm a pheasant plucker's wife

And when we pluck together it's a pheasant plucking life !