Brothers at Arms (51 page)

They were awestruck.

“Oh, yes,” he remembered. “We did a study course about the antiquities in Rome, which gave us a better understanding of the things we saw.”

The mention of bookish occupation brought a glazed look to Michael’s eyes. “I suppose your tutor insisted on that sort of thing.”

Joshua nodded. “Our lessons in Greek, Latin and Italian continued unabated.”

“Oh, languages aren’t my forte,” Michael said, sounding almost proud of the fact. “I can’t get the hang of all those funny words foreigners use. You’d think they would speak English, when you’ve taken the trouble to visit their country.”

Clearly, anything else was beyond his comprehension.

“How long were you there?” asked James.

Joshua considered the matter. “Almost a year and a half, most of which was spent between Athens and Rome. We were in Greece several months, but my tutor was ill in the mountains so we didn’t see a great deal of the country.”

He did not think they would want to know about the poverty he had seen.

“Did you bring back any art treasures?”

“Only the portrait we had painted, and that’s hardly a treasure,” he said, remembering the gift from Lady Kenchester.

“You didn’t go on your own, did you?”

Joshua itemised the people. “No,” he said. “There was Dr Hawley, the tutor, and a couple of servants from home. My father engaged a former soldier to act as guide, with some grooms as guards on the coaches, and…a…friend came with me.”

Charlie was like a brother at the time, and far better than Joshua’s sibling had ever been. Then they asked the inevitable question.

“Where is he now?”

Joshua had to prevaricate.

“He joined the army and I came here.” That was all he knew, and the information came from Mr Coke. “We planned to join together, but my older brother died whilst we were in Italy, and I became heir to the estate.”

Recounting the story left Joshua drained. He thought he had buried his feelings, but this touched a raw spot. It was lucky they thought the grief he showed related to a lost brother and asked no more questions. It did, but not the one they imagined.

It was still dark when Joshua awoke on a damp October morning. He glanced towards the window and listened, judging the hour to be almost time for birdsong to begin. It was strange how he noticed such things where once he was oblivious.

The rain that he heard in the night had stopped but there was a constant dripping of water outside. Most likely the oak tree, whose branches shaded his room in the summer, had shed its leaves and filled the guttering on the stable roof to overflowing.

He shivered and pulled the blanket higher over his shoulder, hoping for warmth, yet knowing there was little pleasure in lying abed with a coastal chill seeping into his bones. The rooms in the stables were clean, dry and functional, but not built for comfort unless one was a horse. Soon he must move and put some food in his belly, and to achieve this it was necessary to venture outside.

Joshua’s introduction to gamekeeping involved studying the game books, which recorded the totals of pheasants, partridge, grouse, snipe and woodcock from the previous seasons, itemising the number and type of birds shot on a particular day, by members of the shooting parties. The ground game listed, he learned, referred to hares.

Order and method in everything, he thought with a wry smile.

Mr Blakeney must have read his mind, for he said, “This is an appropriate time to mention tenancy agreements, Mr Norbery, which permit the tenant farmer to shoot hare and rabbits on the land, except where the landowner reserves the sporting rights. I will find the relevant Game Laws for you to peruse, together with the appropriate certificate that anyone wishing to shoot game is obliged to obtain.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, without much enthusiasm.

“While you are studying the game books, you might find this one of interest,” said Mr Blakeney, pointing to a book marked Deer Park. “It could be relevant to Linmore.”

Joshua had seen the herds of red and fallow deer in the park but assumed that their breeding was left to nature. He should have known better.

“Not so”, said Mr Blakeney. “Whilst a park of this size has the potential to sustain a herd in excess of five hundred head of deer, we do not retain that number. Stocks have to be carefully managed to ensure the total does not exceed the food supplies in the park for the coming winter season.

“In November, you will have the opportunity to assist with the annual deer count, which includes the fawns born in the summer. Each year we exchange some of the dominant young bucks with other deer herds to prevent interbreeding, which weakens the strain. After which there is a cull of the excess.”

As he wrote the relevant details in his diary, Joshua realised that it was another form of stock breeding, with an end product of venison as opposed to beef or mutton.

The lecture over it was a relief to go outside to inspect the horse-drawn game-larder, which was an ingenious construction, built in sections with iron racks and hooks for various types of game, with an alabaster lining to provide cool storage.

Several days during the shooting season, he saw the vehicle empty in the morning, and again as the contents were stored in the large game-larder at the Hall. It was sufficient to illustrate the efficacy of the vehicle. To complete the study, he drew a couple of sketches in his workbook, intending to include them in a letter to Francis Weyborne.

Whilst adding new entries to the game book in the agent’s office, Joshua’s mind drifted back to the previous year, when he joined a shooting party at Linmore with his father and Charlie. That was why he declined the chance at Holkham, for it raised too many memories. A year ago, nothing had changed…

He sighed, trying to shake off his despondent mood.

“Are you bored with writing numbers in books, Mr Norbery?”

Joshua roused with a start, unaware of the agent’s entry to the office until he spoke. “There’s more to gamekeeping than shooting parties,” said Mr Blakeney, waving a hand in the direction of the sound of gunfire. “They are the culmination of the gamekeeper’s year. Preparation began many months ago, when the first pheasant and partridge chicks were hatched. Then they had to be reared and protected from vermin…of all kinds. A gamekeeper’s life, Mr Norbery, is not an easy one, as you will discover. ”

Joshua knew he was about to learn a new aspect of land management.

Mr Blakeney told him that vermin referred to anything that might endanger the young game.

“You would be surprised how many enemies these birds have. It is a wonder they survive, for predators steal many of the eggs before they hatch.”

“What kind of predators?” he asked.

“Of the fur, feathered and scaly kind,” the agent said cryptically. “Birds of prey take the chicks in the wild. Snakes eat the eggs, as do rats, which are particularly destructive. Then there are foxes, weasels, stoats, hedgehogs, or carrion, such as crows and magpies. Located as we are on the coast, seagulls are a menace.

“When they are fully grown, the young birds need protecting from their natural enemies – and man as well. This is the time of highest risk of poaching, and poachers, Mr Norbery, are an aberration. It cannot be condoned, because it is a case of unlawful people abusing the rights of the landowner on his land.”

Having seen people in abject poverty, Joshua wondered what harm the loss of a few rabbits could do. He did not need to ask, for Mr Blakeney remedied his ignorance of the subject.

“I can see that you don’t believe me, but if one allowed them the odd rabbit, where would it end? The Game Laws give the right of ownership to the landowner – your father amongst them. Magistrates have to judge the poachers who steal game for food against those who do it for profit, and take appropriate action against hardened offenders who stop at nothing to achieve their aims.”

“You mean they offer violence against gamekeepers?” That put a different complexion on the matter.

“Gangs from towns outside the district come prepared to kill or maim; and the punishments are harsh. The penalty for such things is death. A lesser crime attracts a fine, a prison sentence or transportation to a penal colony. Bear in mind that one day, you might be the magistrate making such decisions.”

That caught Joshua’s imagination. Apathy and regret disappeared, and the need to know took precedence.

“What methods are used in poaching, sir?”

“There are many, but next week when the shoot is over, I will send you out with one of the senior gamekeepers. He can tell you what to look for.”

A look was all Joshua intended when he set out to walk back to the stables from his evening meal at the Hall, an hour later than the other lads who were always ready before him. Then curiosity took over – a powerful incentive added to the recollection of what Dunbar, a gamekeeper with twenty years experience, told him.

He spent a week learning about the hatching and rearing of young pheasants and partridge. Three more days identifying vermin of the two or four-footed kind that Mr Blakeney had mentioned
.
Then he went out on the estate with Dunbar.

Accustomed to riding around the estate, Joshua found himself walking for miles and miles. With every step, the gamekeeper pointed out various things of significance. Abandoned nests in trees, repaired by carrion for their use, crows and such like, which attacked the young birds. Joshua’s mind took in every detail.

“I notice that you didn’t come on the shoot with the other young gentlemen,” the keeper said.

“No,” Joshua said. “Mr Blakeney said it was the end of your preparation.”

“In a manner of speaking it is, but there again, it isn’t, for when game stocks are high we are at our most watchful – for poachers. That applies to the deer as well.”

“He mentioned need and greed,” Joshua said.

The man nodded.

“Need is when a pothunter supplies his own table. Greed is for profit. Shopkeepers are supposed to have a certificate authorising them to sell game, but some folks aren’t too particular about such things. They’re the ones who pay a good price for game, and don’t ask questions about where it comes from, or the sometimes violent means used to acquire it. The kind of thing we gamekeepers have to face. People can get killed.”

That sounded like the running battles between the Revenue men and smugglers. As they walked, Dunbar pointed out places where pheasants might roost, citing a large patch of thorn trees in a wood, between the boughs of an oak tree, or in thick old ivy.

“Pheasants gather in numbers under oak trees when acorns are ripe. At night, the strength of the wind affects the height the birds will roost. We know what the birds do, and when to expect poachers.”

“How?” said Joshua.

“They come when the moon is rising. Game is more plentiful during the first three quarters of the cycle. The last week and a half is poor.”

“How can the moon affect it?”

“Take my word for it, but it does, and the experienced poachers know it. I’ve listened to a few in my time here, usually in the public houses.”

“Bright moonlight, you mean?”

“No,” said Dunbar. “The poachers need some cloud, with a light breeze to keep it moving. That way, it’s light enough for them to see what they are doing, but not so bright we can see them.”

He heard about snares, traps and of nets the width of a five-barred gate to catch rabbits, or set across grassland and quiet country lanes where hares spent time running up and down. Once caught in the net, the poachers quickly killed the animals, but Dunbar told him of finding abandoned nets when the gamekeepers disturbed poachers, and the difficulties of removing stiffened carcases.

That is why the poachers aimed to get their catch away from the area as quickly as might be achieved. Usually in a horse-drawn vehicle waiting nearby, for they could catch dozens, even a hundred or more hares in a night.

Joshua was still mulling over the details when he followed the drive alongside the lake. The reflection of the waxing moon in the water drew his attention to the clouds scudding across the sky and the freshening breeze that would soon sweep them away
.

It was an entrancing sight. He felt the weariness of the previous hour evaporate, and in the brightness was tempted to take a walk across the park. Before he had taken two steps forward, he recalled his conversation with Dunbar.

“Do you go out at night after poachers?” he had asked the gamekeeper.

“We do, young sir,” said the man, in a blunt voice, “but don’t go thinking that you can do the same. We have enough to contend with, without looking for lost boys.”

“What do you mean?” Joshua said in an indignant voice, wondering how Dunbar knew the idea had just occurred to him.

“We take guns, because they do, and in a park the size of this one, there’s no way of telling a poacher from a gamekeeper. Mr Coke pays me to go out and risk being shot or hit over the head, but he’d take a dim view if anything like that happened to you, through your own stupidity.”

Blunt words indeed, but they hit the mark. Joshua was feeling irked at the restrictions of playing nursemaid to the other two students, but he could not allow Dunbar to be blamed. He looked again at the poachers’ moon, decided that he was too tired for adventures, and made his way back to the stables. Morning would come all too soon. Learning of the potential risks faced by gamekeepers was one aspect of game-keeping that Joshua would never forget, nor write about in his diary.

After that, Joshua confined his activities to working during the daytime. He wrote relevant facts in his diary and sent letters home to Aunt Jane and Francis Weyborne.

I will soon be starting my second round of placements. I have little time to write in detail, but record the daily happenings in the estate book the agent gave me for the purpose. It looks very grand, with the Holkham crest, an ostrich, emblazoned on the black leather cover.

My view of estate management is different to when I began, but the principle is easy to understand. The landlord maintains the buildings and the tenant has responsibility for the land, subject to the terms of the lease, planned by Mr Blakeney.