A Sportsman at Large 61 



It was no longer : " Look out, Cockie, a rabbit coming your 

 way ! " but " Mark over No. 3 " (or whatever my number 

 might chance to be). 



Plenty to shoot at, good sirs, and a nice hot luncheon in 

 the interim to batten on. But oh ! for the days with Toby, 

 Cato or Cockie (according to the era of operations), and one 

 tried and trusted pal, working hard all day for half a dozen 

 rabbits, a possible pheasant, partridge or woodcock, and an 

 assortment of pigeons, fieldfares and redwings ! 



Once again Eheu fugaces ! 



When bent on the more formal gatherings at Moat Mount, 

 after poor old Irwin had suffered a breakdown, which 

 necessitated the laying aside of his beloved gun, I generally 

 motored down from town with my distinguished relative, Air- 

 Marshal Sir Hugh (" Boom ") Trenchard (a very keen and 

 skilful shot), or Capt. Gerald Rivington, an Ai exponent of 

 the shooters' Art. I think the former was far more upset 

 about a rocketter or a woodcock missed (and regretted the 

 " wash-out " far more deeply) than by the undoing of his 

 wonderful and meticulous plans for raiding Berlin with his 

 air forces, by reason of the intervention of the Great Armistice 

 of November nth, 1918. 



