The shooting party

Hard frost and weak sunshine this morning as we set off to Gloucester for Helena to meet her Tutor. I went on to tofu-land, and then headed off to explore part of the River Severn's flood plain south of the city. I wandered down the old lanes which were originally farm access tracks, until I reached a swing-bridge over the Sharpness Canal. It was built to allow sea-going boats to reach Gloucester and beyond, avoiding the shallows of the Severn. Near here is where Thames and Severn canal, which at the bottom of our valley, joined the sharpness to allow boat connections to London.

It was a classic scene by the water's edge, with frost on the grass, wherever there was shadow, and birds flying over head, including a buzzard being dive-bombed by a group of smaller birds. In a field near the bridge was a very old oak tree, which had been pollarded centuries ago and was still thriving despite having lost the life in its upper limbs. As I photographed it, I heard a woodpecker rat-a-tat-tatting until it emerged from the dead top branches and flew off to the next tree in its typical undulating flight pattern. I also heard guns firing in the distance.

I carried on driving down the road looking for the banks of the river, opposite to where we watched the Severn Bore on my birthday two years ago. But on this eastern side access is very restricted by the farmland and the small lanes. Every road is a dead-end so with no through traffic it has a feeling of being lost in the past. I suddenly noticed a gathering of cars and vehicles in a field near the church at Elmore.

I knew immediately that here were the guns I'd heard. I parked and wandered up the road. On one side six horses in a field were running playfully in a group, enjoying the warming air and the sun. I managed a couple of pictures, and very nearly caught one horse with all four feet off the ground. I crossed the road to the gate where the cars had driven in and took a couple of pictures. I watched the party who were enjoying a break for coffee and bacon rolls from the backs of their Range-Rovers; brandy too probably. I saw several people pointing at me and others turned to look. One woman is in the picture taking a photo of me. I sensed I wasn't welcome. Can't think why.

I walked on to the church and some minutes later a convoy of the vehicles left the field and came towards me. The leading Range-Rover slowed, the window wound down and a cloth capped laird asked me if I was taking photos! He was very friendly but I felt this was all front. The countryside alliance probably thrives here. Just sniffing out strangers.

When I was about eighteen, my father took me on one of these shoots in Wiltshire, at the invitation of a friend of his, whose father owned 20,000 acres of farms and woodland. Altogether that day over 500 pheasants were slaughtered by this pretence at sport, with everything organised to ensure the birds were driven with little hope of escape towards a barrage of guns that might have been designed for warfare. I have called this the shooting party, but I still feel as I did back then that it was like a firing squad.

Within weeks of my shoot, I had become a vegetarian, which I continued for 33 years before i decided to eat some white meat again for nutritional purposes.