Tribulations of a Country Gentleman

The previous post on Botham and the RSPB touched on the antics of certain pseudo gentlemen who see themselves as inheritors by right of a Victorian country sports tradition only sustainable for a minority of the privileged classes. I've now found the quote I was looking for from Trollope's Last Chronicle of Barset. The words are spoken by one of the author's favourites, the mischievous Lily Dale who is never happier than when mocking the pretensions of menfolk.

"Now, with women, it is supposed that they can amuse themselves or live without amusement. Once or twice in a year, perhaps something is done for them. There is an arrow-shooting party, or a ball, or a picnic. But the catering for men's sport is never ending, and is always paramount to everything else. And yet the pet game of the day never goes off properly. In partridge time, the partridges are wild, and won't come to be killed. In hunting time the foxes won't run straight --the wretches. They show no spirit, and will take to ground to save their brushes. Then comes a nipping frost, and skating is proclaimed; but the ice is always rough, and the woodcocks have deserted the country. And as for salmon--when the summer comes round I do really believe that they suffer a great deal about the salmon. I'm sure they never catch any. So they go back to their clubs and their cards, and their billiards, and abuse their cooks and blackball their friends. …................."

The current impediment to Ian Botham's full indulgence in these arduous pursuits along with his fellow shooting estate owners seems to be the activities of the RSPB. Once it was butterfingered slip fielders, incompetent umpires and badly prepared pitches. Now, the more Hen Harriers the fewer grouse for the shoot.