Brothers at Arms

by Brothers at Arms (epub)

  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.

  CHAPTER 36

  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 wh
en 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.

  Of course, I can only equate this to Holkham by looking back to how Mr Coke replaced old farmhouses and buildings on the estate. His programme continued with labourers’ cottages. The initial cost must have been prohibitively high, but over time, lower maintenance justified the expenditure.

  Joshua reread the letter. The content looked all right on paper, but he could not make assumptions about what would happen when he returned to Linmore. He had never been in the position to consider cost before, but suspected that his late brother’s debts were considerable. To what degree, he knew not.

  When he accompanied Mr Weyborne and Francis on their daily rounds, he had seen buildings in need of repair, and some neglected land. At the time, he did not understand the significance. Now he did, and wanted to go home and play his part in the renewal of Linmore. If he were lucky, his father would let him have a say, but he had a further six months to acquire more knowledge.

  To ensure he did not forget anything, Joshua strived to fill in the details before he went to sleep, and had done through all his placements, when he could remain awake. Some days he wrote half a page, but others managed only a couple of lines. He was sure Aunt Jane and his father would want to know what he had been doing.

  October the twenty eighth. He recorded the date when the agent took the three students on a tour of the roads around the perimeter of the park. Other than the monthly meeting in the estate office, it was Mr Blakeney’s way of bringing them together in their work, and always followed the same pattern.

  They rode their horses two abreast. Michael and James preferred to ride together, so Joshua rode alongside the agent, who pointed out recent repairs to farm buildings, and new thatches to farm workers’ cottages, using local reeds.

  He had travelled this way many times before. When they approached the outer limits of the fishing village, they usually turned down a track onto the estate. Before that, they passed the local workhouse. At least, that was what the faded notice on the gate said it was.

  The brick and flint building was surrounded by a high wall, in which were set a pair of sturdy wooden doors, chained together. There was little to see from the road, but riding a horse, Joshua could stand up in the stirrups and peer over the walls. All he could see was the tiled roof and narrow windows with many panes of dusty glass. It had a bleak, abandoned look, and not once in passing had he seen any signs of life.

  He remembered seeing a similar building in Linmore Dale, and in other counties on his journey to Holkham. They were dark, gloomy places, overflowing with people, whereas this seemed empty. If not here, where were the poor of the district? Before he saw poverty on his travels, Joshua would not have been aware of such things, but now he was.

  “Why are the doors locked, Mr Blakeney?” He felt silly asking the question, but wanted to know.

  The agent brought his horse to a halt, and answered with another question. “Why do you think it might be closed?”

  “I can only imagine that it wasn’t large enough, and another has been built nearer the town,” said Joshua.

  “That’s one option,” the agent said, turning in the saddle. “Now, let me ask Mr Gransden what he thinks is the purpose of having such an institution?”

  “To house the poor, of course, sir,” Michael Gransden hastened to say, “but my father thinks they should be made to help themselves.”

  “Mmm, that is an interesting concept, young man. What would you do to assist the indigent in their endeavour?” Mr Blakeney’s tone was quiet, but he accentuated the familiar burr.

  Michael responded with the voice of youth and privilege. “If they aren’t prepared to work then they should be left to starve.”

  The agent stroked his jaw before giving his response.

  “Unfortunat
ely,” he said, “it is when families are starving that they are forced into the workhouse. These places are not for pleasure, gentlemen. They provide basic food and shelter. Conditions are harsh, and people only enter those doors as a last resort. The stigma is so great that some folk would rather die with their self-respect than ask for help. The majority would rather earn their living, even doing the meanest task than to be labelled thus.”

  For once, Michael Gransden was at a loss for words, and James was similarly afflicted, but Joshua’s mind was teaming with thoughts.

  “As this was your question, Joshua,” the agent said, “I’ll give you the answer. This building has been empty for well over a year, for the simple reason the people hereabouts have work to do. They maintain their dignity, which is an important factor.”

  The agent’s words triggered a memory of something Sergeant Percival said about women trading services to young men in exchange for money, and Joshua realised the significance of Tess offering herself rather than accept his charity. She might have needed the money, but it did not make his misguided offer welcome. Her self-respect was all she had.

  Mr Coke knew that and provided the means to earn her living – which added another dimension to his understanding of a landowner’s responsibilities.

  Contrary to Joshua’s expectations, the second part of his apprenticeship did not follow the rigid lines of the first. Mr Blakeney offered him the chance to plan his timetable, which proved as confusing as the well-established routine at Holkham. He was not sure what he wanted to do.

  “What type of soil do you have in Shropshire, Mr Norbery?”

  Joshua was attending the November meeting of students in the agent’s office. His mind was elsewhere, and Mr Blakeney had a habit of firing questions at people. Today, he was well and truly caught gathering dust.

  “I…um…” Joshua frowned. What did he mean?

  “Let me rephrase the question. What type is the local rock near your home?”