/ 
LAND AND WATER 
August 29, 1 9 14 
.•iSS-ii-v^,-; 
Ftom an Old Engraving 
A BROOD OF PARTRIDGES 
PARTRIDGES AND OTHER THINGS 
By GUY C. POLLOCK 
WITHIN three days of the partridges ! That 
should be an exhilarating and joyous thought. 
It is not so. It cannot be so while the shroud 
of destiny is still wrapped, like a clammy 
mist of death, over all the world, and while 
we cannot tell to what new duties, trials, and tests of fortitude 
and patriotism these days may call us. 
Some day, in the mercy of a divine dispensation, we shall 
have put tiiis, the greatest war of history, behind us. We 
shall have put behind us the aftermath of conflict, which may 
well be only less disturbing 'than the war itself. We shall 
have returned to a normal England, free, proud, unshaken, 
with unsullied hohour by sea and land. But we shall not be 
as we were. Neither politics nor parties, things nor men, 
can ever be what they were. They will be, we may hope, 
purer and finer, purged of much pettiness, exalted by sacrifice 
to nobler conceptions. But not the same. Already tempora 
mutantur, nos el mutamur in Mis. Yet it is reasonable to 
believe that in time the partridges of England, our native 
game bird — neither decimated nor terrified, let us believe, by 
any successful invasion of armed enemies sweeping with fire 
and sword over a craven or defeated land — will again occupy 
our earnest thoughts when warm September daj's of a peaceful 
English autumn come near again. War will not drive from 
us our love of sport. Indeed, our love of sport may have 
helped us much in war. A foreign military writer, a man of 
wide experience of war, who has himself commanded in many 
campaigns levies of ardent volunteers, has already expressed 
a great surprise in the soldierly efficiency of our Territorials, 
and has attributed this efficiency to the British love of sport 
and from athleticism, fit training for the soldier's mind and 
body. Our games and field sports may yet vindicate them- 
selves on the battlefields of Belgium, on the sacred shores of 
this our native land. 
But I wish — if only I can rid my mind sufficiently of the 
shadow of war, which impinges on my manuscript as King 
Charles's head bothered the unhappy Mr. Dick — to consider 
the partridges in relation to the present crisis. No good 
sportsman, I think, is keen on partridge shooting now. Too 
many who ha\-e been our comrades in the shooting field — 
good fellows, brave and enduring men — are facing shot and 
shell at the call of patriotism and a righteous cause. I could 
not even carry a gun over the stubbles and roots of the 
little shoot without too poignant memories of happier days, 
when one who now commands a British cruiser in action did 
such excellent execution in our hottest corner at pheasants, 
when another who commands a regiment of the expeditionary 
force shared the varied fortunes of a September partridge 
day, when yet another, comrade of many days, now recalled 
to the colours of his heart, walked close with me to make a 
triumph of the season's very end. I should have, too, to 
think very nearly of our most faithful and enthusiastic beater, 
an old soldier, still a reservist, a person, I fear, with an 
unquenchable thirst, but with a stout and lovable heart, 
tender to all the brute creation, if not a perfect husband, 
wearing the ribbon of the medal with four clasps which he had 
long since pawned, our excellent friend, one of our defenders 
now. These memories would overpress the day and take 
from partridge shooting all its joyous friendliness. It may 
even be that outpost duty and not partridges may claim those 
of us who, beyond the military age and not so sound as when 
the doctor vetted us in pre-TerritoriaJ days, have offered, 
obeying a duty which the poorest Englishman could not 
ignore, to go back to military duty. 
Yet, with all this, the game must be shot, if possible. 
It must be shot because it will be useful, because it may be 
distributed either to supplement a local food supply or to 
add to the larders, of hospitals delicacies which may have a 
tragically enhanced value. I hope and believe that neither 
on big shoots or little shoots will there be any attempt to 
make a profit by the sale of game in war-time. We do not 
want our grouse and partridges and pheasants for the dinner 
tables of the well-to-do. This is no time for many courses 
and high living. It is a time for simple fare and a com- 
munistic spirit. We want the game for the sick, the wounded, 
and the poor. We must shoot very liberally for the pot. 
We must shoot, too, because it is important not to withdraw, 
so far as withdrawal can be avoided, any circulation of money 
in British districts which have been used to depend for 
prosperity on such expenditure. Hunting is almost bound 
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